


notes from a small town bakery (or: all my friends are falling in love)

by FrankIin



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, absolutely no one is focused on the baked goods, patsys a mess, this is just pure chaotic energy from everybody, trixie rolls her eyes, vals a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 109,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankIin/pseuds/FrankIin
Summary: There are worse things Val could have got handed to her, but owning a bakery with her best friend Trixie, and good pals Pats, Deels, and Phyllis is a pretty alright way of life  Except there’s something up with Patsy, Trixie is on the brink of another bad time, Delia can’t stay on her damn bike, and Shelagh bloody Turner needs another obscure birthday cake.Oh, and then these nurses stop by for breakfast and, well, guess love at first sight does exist.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount, Fred Buckle/Violet Buckle, Lucille Anderson/Valerie Dyer, Trixie Franklin/Barbara Gilbert
Comments: 226
Kudos: 227





	1. chapter one

“Valerie, wake up.”

“Five more minutes.”

“You said that when I went for my run an hour ago,” Trixie tsked from the door. “Poor Patsy has been downstairs since five to get a head start on the Turner order - and I have a meeting at the bank at seven.”

“Screw the  _ bloody _ Turner order,” Valerie let out an undignified grunt, rolling over and away from Trixie’s shrill tone. “I’ll be down in ten.”

“Make that five, sweetie, Patsy’s already popped the kettle on.”

And then she was gone, whirling down the stairs in an unnecessary energy. Valerie blinked, sat up, glanced down to the glaring brightness of her phone’s clock. Five fifty two. She dropped back into bed. 

-

Before the army, Val never slept. Too much energy, too many thoughts whirring away. Could never focus in school all that well. And would hardly catch a smooth eight hours at all. She would tap her feet so much in bed, Trixie would give her a right kick to the shin to try and get her to stop and sleep. It never really worked. She’d be so focused on keeping herself still so as not to disturb Trix that she’d worry herself awake. 

‘Course the army tired her down to her bones and gave her all sorts of terrors that she existed now in the perpetual state between weary and downright exhaustion. Trix had been trying to cajole her into a shrink for the past two years but she managed just about fine on the coffee and sugar she plies herself with each day, usually brought to her by the ever so wonderful Patience Mount who was raging somewhat a storm in the kitchen. 

“The woman is ridiculous.”

Patsy handed her a coffee through the large hole in the wall — one of those windows so that the customers can see the chefs hard at work (Trixie thought it would make the shop absolutely darling) — as she continued to rant away. 

“Must she be so vague with her direction? The birthday cake should taste of Midsommar and coziness? What does that even  _ mean _ ? Can she not just say  _ lemon _ ?”

Balling up the pink piece of paper, Patsy disregarded it into the bin and returned to one of three mixing bowls she had set out. 

“Utterly ridiculous. Doesn’t she know I’ve mountains of choux pastry to prove by nine each morning? Tell me where I’m supposed to find the time to analyse this tosh!”

“Ha,  _ mount _ ains,” Val supplied into her coffee. She found herself in her usual speck, perched on a bar stool behind the register, just close enough to reach through the window to grab stray croissants as they were freed from the oven. 

Trixie rolled her eyes from her spot at the computer and cash register, “Be quiet and drink your coffee, Valerie, you’re not funny this early.”

“Or ever,” Patsy supplied with a smirk, furiously whisking away. 

“Laugh it up, Queen Elizabeth, least I try, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you tell a joke before,” Val glared back. 

“Delia finds me rather hilarious, I’ll have you know,  _ Oliver _ .”

“Trix, Pats called me poor.”

Trixie was decidedly far too distracted sifting through their online orders to care so chose instead to wave her hand behind her and remark, “Just remind her that you're not the one with student debts, sweetie.”

“Oh yeah. In fact, everyone else here has ‘em, don’t they? Which means  _ I’m _ the bloody royal,” Val beamed and wiggled her eyebrows at Patsy as she slurped up the last of her coffee. 

Patsy jut her jaw, “I don’t think we’d find a crown that’ll fit your thick head.”

“I’ll be happy with a sceptre and sword if you will, peasant,” Valerie held the mug through the window. 

And hastily yanked her hand back as Patsy slammed it over. 

Valerie glared her down for a moment before spinning back around to Trixie.

“Why are you going to the bank anyway?” 

“I’m going to buy a coffee machine.”

Valerie squinted, “Why?”

“Because we’re going to start making coffees alongside pastries and breads,” Trixie responded coolly, continuing to click away. “It’ll be a good move for us.”

“Yeah? And who’s going to be making these coffees?”

At this, Trixie turned around, her bright smile in place. Val grimaced before she even had the chance to say it. 

“I’m not a barista, I’m a baker.”

“Oh sweetie, did we not tell you? The result of the appeal came through. Patsy and Phyllis are continuing their ban of you entering the kitchen. I’m sorry.”

Val and Delia had set about trying to surprise Patsy with a birthday cake back in March. The result had been inedible, followed by a swift panic attack by the birthday girl until Phyllis had cleaned the batter from the ceiling. And replaced the burnt spoons. The two had been tried in Trixie’s court for crimes against cookery and were barred from entering the kitchen for the foreseeable. Val had appealed last week but it seemed the higher powers had thwarted her liberation. 

Talk about ridiculous. 

Val cast yet another glare to an oblivious Patsy before throwing it Trixie's way. 

“You know what coffee brings, Trix?”

“More revenue.”

“Hipsters. They’ll overcrowd us. Instagram us. Gentrify us.”

Trixie huffed, “Val, I’ve already decided. Besides you were saying just last week that you wanted more to do around here.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d whip out the overalls and give us a new coat of paint or something.”

“We redecorated last season.”

“And you can  _ tell.  _ Dark blue accents, Trix? In Spring? Whatever would Ms Wintour say?”

“It’s sixties Parisian chíc,” Trixie said pointedly. And then sighed. “I thought of you when I made this choice, it’ll keep your mind busy, your  _ hands _ busy.”

She dropped her gaze to Val’s lap where her fingers were picking at the skin of her other hand. Val stopped the unconscious ministrations and flushed. 

“I’m never going to make coffee, I keep my hands plenty busy, I’ll have you know, Trix.”

“With what?”

“Women.”

Trixie allowed a moments pause before completely ignoring the statement and saying, “Let’s stop you picking by getting these orders ready before Delia gets here, okay?”

Val sat up straighter, stretching. 

“Fine. But it’s your turn to fold the bloody boxes.”

-

Valerie peeled the address label off and attached it to another box, such was the routine of a morning. Trixie was in the process of expertly folding all of the cream coloured delivery boxes for the days outgoings when she paused in her actions rather suddenly.

“There’s something wrong with Patsy,” She declared in a hushed, yet still equally dramatic whisper.

Valerie spun back to look through the window. Patsy  _ seemed _ fine. Sure, a few more hairs than usual had escaped her usual tight updo but she was carrying away with rolling up the morning croissants in her usual ship-shape, Bristol fashion. But then, Val glanced at the clock, she’d gotten onto pistachio quite quickly this morning - the flavour was scheduled in for six-thirty in Patsy’s Pastry Plan, but it was only six-twenty two. And Patsy was never one to stray from her plan. 

Val turned back to Trixie, wide-eyed.

“Something absolutely terrible is wrong with Patsy.”

“She was in a tizz when I came down this morning,” Trixie carried on. “As though her mind was elsewhere. She hadn’t even tied her apron before getting the flour out, Val.”

“Can’t be the Turner order, could it? We’ve had bigger than a kid's sixth birthday.”

Trixie frowned, looking over to her friend herself, “I wonder if everything is okay with Delia; she’s been home every evening this week which is unusual in itself.”

Valerie considered for a moment. Patsy and Delia  _ did _ have quite the turbulent start to a relationship but had seemed to mellow out over the past year save for a few occasional outbursts at the behest of Patsy’s absolute inability to voice her any feeling whatsoever or Delia’s overbearing relatives who would descend on the two rather diabolically. They always worked it out though. They were good like that. Val figured they were going to be one of those awful together forever couples from the moment they met, she didn’t ever wager she’d end up loving how they loved each other.

Blimey, Pats and Deels drama was not something Val could cope with emotionally right now.

“Look, I know what I said when I first met her but, Trix, I don’t think I could take Delia in a fight, she’s got bikers thighs and I haven’t done one push up since being discharged,” Val said cautiously. “But if she’s hurt Patsy I’ll have to fight her.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Delia is a sweetheart, it was probably Patsy that did something - if anything did, in fact, happen,” Trixie sent a sad smile to the window. Patsy precisely set the pistachio croissants down. “She seems out of sorts, you need to find out what it is.”

“Wait, why me?”

“Because I have to go to the bank and then go and buy a coffee machine.”

“But Pats and me don’t talk about these sorts of things,” Val whispered. “Feelings are off the table under we’re under the bar from drinking too much.”

Trixie huffed, “You’re finding out what is wrong with your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“I’m your sister,” Trixie thwonked her over the head with a cardboard box. “It’s different. Find out why Patsy’s stressed, Val, I implore you, we both know what happens when she doesn’t look after herself.”

That first month back from Iraq had truly been eye-opening.

“Fine.”

“Good. Now, chop chop, I need to leave in ten.”

\--

“I come bearing a selection of curds from Mrs McGee, I was thinking we could try these with our scones to spot some more unique flavour pairings.”

Phyllis rushed through the door not shortly after Trixie’s departure with a wicker basket of jars in her clutches. 

Patsy, who had allowed Val the privilege of her presence by reopening the window, looked up from her folding with a grin. 

“Oh, how splendid. I think the mango will taste ravishing with the dark chocolate.”

Val yawned as she continued to tie the decorative paisley ribbons around the delivery boxes. A finishing touch like this shows we care, Val, Trixie had insisted. She found it therapeutic to be perfectly honest, enjoying the hum-drum routine. 

“I’m afraid the blackcurrant was absconded before I got there,” Phyllis hastened through to the kitchen. “Apparently our favourite customer is quite partial to homemade jams as well.”

“Ah, Monica Joan, a true delight. I’ve added extra ginger snaps for Delia to give her when she drops the order off today.”

“Patsy—“

“Don’t worry, Phyllis, I already took into account the stock and adjusted it accordingly in the rolodex  _ and  _ the computer system.”

Phyllis paused, then nodded, “Good on you, lass. Now where are we up to?”

“Well, the pastry for most of the Turner order is proving, the cake is in the oven. Our morning pastries are almost ready to come out and—“

“Ex-Excuse me? Are you open?”

Valerie blinked away from the monotony of Phyllis and Patsys discussion to look at the door. A small, mousy looking woman with red, flustered cheeks, and hair wisps escaping a ponytail had poked her head through. She looked exhausted, bless, and seemed to be using the door to keep herself up right. 

Val smiled softly at her, “Well, we don’t usually open until seven thirty but you look like you’re in need a good cake, chick. Come on in.”

“Oh thank you!” The woman looked as though she might cry; how her big blue eyes seemed incapable of concealing any sort of emotion. “I’ve just gotten off the most horrendous night shift - I’m a nurse, you see - and I was cycling back home with my friend and we happened upon the glorious croissants in your window and I…”

As endearing as the small woman was, Valerie could not find it within her to focus on her ramblings when her friend followed her into the bakery. Her body seemed to stop. Ears swelling with white noise. Eyes bulging. Valerie observed the most beautiful woman she had ever had the fortune of being in the presence of. This other woman caught her eye and smiled. The sudden sensation of drowning fell over Valerie. 

Holy shit. 

Well. She’d never given the impression of being dignified. 

Blinking back into the conversation, Val grinned at the two, “Well, those croissants are a little stale, they’re freeze-dried for the window,  _ but _ I have on good account a fresh batch is about to make its way out. You two pull up a stool and I’ll get ‘em for you.”

“Five minutes Val!” came Patsy’s alarm from the window. 

Val turned back to the two, tips of her ears feeling quite hot as she tried not to stare at the other woman. 

“Tell you what, while you wait, can I get you a tea? Coffee?”

“Tea would be lovely!” The bright woman declared.

The second woman, she seemed more shy, delicate in her answer, “A coffee would do fine for me.”

“We’ve only get the instant stuff, will that be alright for you…?”

“Oh! I’m Barbara, this is Lucille, we’re nurses over at the hospital,” Barbara, mousy woman, smiled lightly, clapping her counterpart on her shoulder. She took a moment, then retreated. “Sorry, the lack of sleep makes me quite delirious it seems.”

Lucille, lovely Lucille, chuckled, “Yes, and it just makes me cranky. Instant is fine…?”

Valerie blinked, “Oh. Val. Valerie. Of this, uh, establishment, you know.” She cleared her throat. “One tea, one coffee, coming right up.”

-

Val flicked the kettle on, rubbing the water from her eyes. Patsy had immediately spritzed her with the spray bottle when she’d entered the kitchen, a deterrent put it in place, and continued to stare her down as she readied the mugs. 

“I’m only touching beverage necessities, rein your neck in.”

“I can’t believe you’re making drinks for customers when not thirty minutes ago you were outright refusing to become a barista for Trixie,” Patsy said with that rather annoying smirk tugging at her lips.

Val wagered they’d have scrapped a lot if they’d known each other as kids. Trixie always put ten on Patsy.

“They’re nurses, I’m doing my bit for the NHS,” Val said resolutely.

Patsy hummed, “Oh yes, and it wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact you haven’t returned to your usual skin tone since they walked in -- red doesn’t suit you, you know.”

Val turned back to the mugs sharply, “I’m just making coffee for some nurses, don’t be making it anything.”

“I’m not making it anything, I’m stating what is already made.”

“Pastries aren’t made, shouldn’t you be doing that?”

“I often find myself wondering,” Phyllis’s dulcet tones dragged them to the bread corner of the kitchen as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Are we professional bakers or not?”

“You’re the one with the culinary degree, Phyllis,” Patsy said, falling back into line behind the table. 

Phyllis preened at that, “But we are all professionals. Now Valerie, get those drinks to them nurses and make sure everything is ready for our delivery driver, I’ve just received a text message from her that she’s setting off now. Patsy, the croissants, hop to it!”

Patsy and Valerie were both compelled to snap to attention, barking “Yes, Crane, sir, yes!” 

Upon Trixie’s absence, Phyllis took the role of acting eye-roller and did just that before she fussed Patsy over to the oven.

  
  



	2. chapter two

Everything that Patsy did came with a rather understated flourish. Valerie could think of numerous reasons for this but the conclusion always came about as her second-favourite person simply despising being the centre of attention but always somehow falling into that role. She only ever wanted a quiet life, too many bodies would unnerve her, but she had such a gravitational pull of charisma that it never actually happened. Oftentimes, when they had all their mates over upstairs in their little two bedroom flat with the dripping sink, Patsy would slink away into her regal looking armchair - a fiver from a Barnado’s a few streets down - and yearn to stay out of the way or without much fuss; yet somehow everyone would want to chat to her, dance with her, laugh with her. Val would always distract her out to the balcony when it would get too much. Val never figured why Patsy was like this, never found herself asking. Just made herself ready and available in the time of a struggle. Patsy always did the same for her, ‘course.

They were like that, see, Pats and Val. Don’t sweat the details. Roll with the punches. Had been since Iraq and the IUD and then that two week stint in a shared hospital tent delirium. 

But yes, Patsy did even the most simple task with an understated flourish like getting bleedin’ butter croissants out of the oven. 

Barbara watched her through the window with the widest eyes Val had ever seen. She looked positively smitten with the croissants and remained transfixed as Patsy set them out on the display trays. 

“Pats here is one of our chefs,” Val grinned over her coffee cup having made one for herself too of course. “She does the best pastries in the whole of England; Phyllis, you can see her at the back, she’s our recipe writer and master bread maker.”

Barbara looked like she was about to salivate.

Lucille tiredly nodded, a sort of gentle smile about her lips, as she held her coffee mug tightly to her chest. 

“And what is it you do, Valerie?”

Lucille said her name with such a weighted lilt that Valerie found herself suddenly very calm and very settled. 

“Well, I co-own the place,” Val declared proudly.

The raise of Lucille’s eyebrows coloured her impressed; she asked, “You do?”

“Mhmm.”

“That’s  _ so _ impressive, oh my,” Barbara gaped, only partly to the pastries but actually Valerie.

Patsy slid the window open, allowing the gentle whispers of Vera Lynn from Phyllis’ radio to escape through, as she passed the display tray through. Val carefully set them down in front of the nurses. 

“Fresh from the oven,” Patsy smiled. “Plain butter, raspberry jam, or milk chocolate; if you’d prefer pistachio or white chocolate, they’ll be a few more minutes. Please enjoy.”

“Thank you, Patsy,” Lucille returned the smile, surveying the food in front of her.

Barbara had already grabbed a chocolate croissant and taken a rather large bite of it. She supplied her thanks with an unruly moan. 

“So this is a joint venture?” Lucille pressed, daintily selecting one of the raspberry. “Between the three of you?”

Valerie shook her head, “This is mine and Trixie’s baby - she’s been my best friend forever, it's always been our dream to have a little bakery. Phyllis taught us how to bake when we were kids so it only made sense to get her on board. Brought Patsy back home with me and turns out she’s a pretty good baker too.”

“Oh that’s so lovely - a proper little family business,” Barbara mused through a mouthful of croissant.

Lucille was watching Valerie oddly, however, before she could pass whatever comment she was thinking of, the door burst open.

“I’m here, hello, I’m here!” came Delia’s panicked declaration as the door swung shut behind her with a bang. “Sorry, I’m late, there was an incident with a tractor on one of the throughroads and it was a right awful mess.”

“Are the farmers blocking the roads again?” Val asked.

“Oh no, he was parked up. Opened the door as I was cycling by, knocked me right to the floor.”

Valerie eyed the wonky helmet atop the woman’s head with something close to thanks. Wednesday, and that was the third time she’d taken a tumble. 

Delia argued her biking was better when she had the weight of the delivery boxes to balance her out; in fact, she’d become so adjusted to it that cycling without them threw her right off course. That’s what she  _ said _ . But Valerie debated the legitimacy of the cycling proficiency certificate she’d presented them at her interview over a year ago. 

Delia had nabbed a croissant from between the nurses, introducing herself quickly before embarking into the kitchen and tackling Patsy in a tight hug. 

“How come Delia doesn’t get sprayed but I do?” Val pressed. She crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at them.

“Delia has to come into the kitchen for orders, Val, and she knows if she goes near the pantry, she’ll get the same fate.”

Valerie huffed.

And then remembered what Trixie had said. She watched, discreetly, how Patsy and Delia interacted. They  _ seemed _ fine. Patsy had that dopey smile, Delia kissed her cheek. There didn’t seem to be any tension between them, well, any bad tension. 

Delia leaned up, whispering something into Patsy’s ear that had the red head flushing, and then shaking her head. Val frowned. Suspicious.

“You do deliveries?” Lucille’s question pried her from her investigation.

Valerie spun back around, “Yeah! Not too long after we opened, we were getting requests to cater meetings, staff rooms, birthday parties. So we hired Delia and her little bike to go around and drop everything off - it’s where most of our money comes from.”

“I’d  _ love _ if you delivered to the hospital, the cafeteria food is hardly fuel to get you through seventy hour shifts,” Barbara lamented quite dramatically.

“Well, here.”

Val passed Lucille a business card after circling her own number. “You ever need any baked goods, give me a ring and I’ll have Delia up there in no more than thirty minutes.”

“Preferably let me know  _ before _ I’ve left the shop,” Delia chided, appearing with a stack of boxes double her size. She exited out the door and back to her bike.

“She won’t mind,” Val countered, smirking at Lucille.

The chuckle she emitted parted the rain clouds for a rainbow. Well, to Val it did. 

“Deels, please, be  _ careful _ ,” Patsy called. She was leaning quite far out of the window, watching as her girlfriend tied up the deliveries. “As much as I love you, I can always patch you up, it’s impossible to do that with a Bavarian slice.”

“Who said love was dead?” Val snarked.

Patsy didn’t seem to hear, having decided to join Delia outside, making sure the straps were indeed secure enough.

Lucille raised her eyebrows, “They’re...together?”

“Yuh-huh,” Val grimaced. “When Delia came in on her first morning, Patsy dropped a tray of pain au raisins, been together ever since.”

There was an apprehension on Lucille’s face that gave Valerie’s heart a cause for rapid thudding.

“I love lesbians,” Barbara said suddenly, though not too sudden to herself it seemed. She was helping herself to her third croissant. “We had the most adorable couple in the other week - they’re always the most prepared for everything. Like Scouts. Only with, well, I guess more plaid?” She furrowed her eyebrows, and then shook her head.

Val blinked, avoided glancing down at her own attire, and cocked her head, “What are...Why did they need to be prepared?”

“We’re midwives,” Lucille answered, definitely glancing at Valerie’s attire, with a coy smile. “Prepared for the birthing process, the baby, everything.”

“I figured you were, you know, uh, regular nurses,” Val said.

“Sometimes we are. But oftentimes, we’re bringing life into the world. They’re the best days.”

“You know, I always supposed if I’d stayed in medicine, I would have pursued a career in obstetrics,” Phyllis interjected dreamily, having made her way to the window. 

“You were in medicine, Phyllis? It is Phyllis right?” Barbara asked.

Phyllis nodded sharply, “Phyllis Crane S.R.N. I retired when my sister fostered Val here, and Trixie, of course, helped raise the two of them. I found that raising children is the only thing possibly more exhausting than district nursing so when they left school my sister and I--”

“ _ Abandoned _ us,” Valerie sniped.

“--went on a holiday--”

“ _ Adventure _ . Mum fought a bear.”

“--for several weeks--”

“Six months.”

“--and when we came back. Haven’t felt inclined to return to nursing at all since rearing those two.”

“Wow,” Lucille regarded them fondly. She drew her attention to Phyllis and queried of her travels. The three, Barbara excitedly joining in, fell into a discussion

Valerie could only smile at them, moreover, Lucille.  _ God _ . This was getting out of hand already. She shook her head at herself. Calm down.

“Well, I’m  _ fairly _ certain my creations are going to arrive safely,” Patsy announced as she closed the door behind her, leaning against it. She glanced at Val, “I  _ will  _ be needing the services of your Toyota for the Turner order though, I can hardly expect her to deliver a croquembouche and three cakes on two wheels.” She heaved a sigh before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Val followed immediately after her.

“No!” 

Water hit her right in the eye. Again. Nevermind.

She shut the door and returned to her seat in a huff. 

“So you own the place but you’re not allowed in the kitchen?” Lucille gave a devilish smirk, having broken away from Barbara and Phyllis’ conversation to address Valerie once more.

Val swallowed thick, nervous, “Well, there was a mishap with a birthday cake. Entirely Delia’s fault but, you know, she’s in the chef’s good books.”

Lucille nodded, surveying her once more. Valerie sweat lightly. 

“Um, so you...are...night shifts?” She asked, awkward, embarrassing.

Lucille paid it no mind and nodded once more, “This week, yes. But most times you can’t predict when a baby is going to make itself known, so we get the call to the action when it’s time.”

“Yeah, rude of them isn’t it? Babies, think they’d have some respect for our hardworking doctors and nurses. Should at least give a two hour notice if they’re rescheduling their appointment,” She knew the joke fell flat before she’d even finished it.

“Well, variety is the spice of life, Valerie,” Lucille said her name with that weight again. 

“More of a routine gal myself if I’m being honest.”

“Yes. I suppose the army will do that to you,” Lucille smirked.

Valerie furrowed her eyebrows, frowning, “How did you--”

Lucille tapped her nose. 

Valerie gaped.

“There’s a photograph by the till; you look adorable in your little uniform.”

Oh yes.  _ That _ . Val had been seventeen and rip-roaring ready to go abroad as soon as she graduated training. Trixie had been vehemently against the entire thing from the moment Val first brought the forms home, but turned up to her graduation regardless, held her hand regardless. The photo at the till was of that day; Trix pressing a kiss to her cheek while she stood sharp in her khakis.

“Yeah, army, Iraq, you know how it is.”

“No,” Lucille teased. “I don’t.”

“Well, maybe I’ll tell you one day,” Valerie tested, snagging her lower lip between her teeth. 

Lucille appraised her for a moment, then smiled, “Maybe you will--”

“Oh heavens, Lucille, it’s almost eight thirty -- we should be getting home!” Barbara interrupted, rising from her chair with a dramatic flair. 

She hastened to remove money from her handbag but Valerie stopped her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Val said. “It’s on me.”

Barbara grinned and put her purse away but Lucille shook her head. A ten pound note was pushed into Val’s hand. Val let it fall to the floor. 

“Valerie.”

“Seriously, don’t worry. Feel like you’re going to be calling us for a few deliveries anyway,” Val winked at Barbara, then back to Lucille. “And we’ll always be ready for you after a night shift.”

Lucille met her eyes for a long moment.

Val picked up the note and passed it back to her, “Cycle safe.”

Lucille took the money with an irked sigh, “I’ll be tipping you this next time.”

“Don’t have a tip jar.”

“I’ll make you one.”

“I’ll buy every jar in England so there’s none for you to use.”

“Then I’ll use one of my pasta sauce jars once it’s empty,” Lucille countered once more. 

“I’ll tell Barbara she won’t get croissants if she lets you eat that pasta sauce.”

Barbara gasped.

Lucille glanced to her, then back to Valerie, “You’re incorrigible.”

Valerie beamed, “It’s my charm.”

“It’s certainly something,” Lucille surveyed her once more, eyes dropping down then back up in the briefest of moments. 

Val felt her ears burn. 

“So I’ll see you around?”

“Certainly!”

“Perhaps.”

And then Lucille and Barbara left, the dinging of bike bells echoing down the street as the door swung shut once more. 

Valerie raised her hand to Phyllis as soon as the grey coats of the nurses had disappeared. 

“Don’t say it.”

“I think she’s certainly very interesting.”

“Nothing is going to happen.”

Phyllis rolled her eyes, of course, and retreated back into the kitchen. 

Water hit the back of Val’s head. Cold. Ice cold. She turned sharply to find Patsy leaning out of the window with the bottle. 

“Thought you could do with cooling off.”

Val growled, “Will you just make your bleedin’ profiteroles!”

Patsy sprayed her once more. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


The day continued as all their other days often did. Trixie returned with the news that their new Mastrena machine would be arriving in the coming week, kitted out with all the necessities - oh how Patsy had clapped at the thought of getting to browse different coffee beans for them to use as their own roast. Val had scoffed and huffed and rolled her eyes in as much argument as she could muster but Trixie’s excitement about their little expansion really was delightful. And she had never, would never,  _ could never _ be the one to dampen Trixie’s moods. Okay, maybe it was a little contagious. 

Delia returned to pick up more deliveries, this time the breads and scones for the local cafés, while Patsy prepared perfectly precise profiteroles for the croquembouche which she declared was, in fact, her magnum opus when it was constructed later that afternoon. Patsy’s pride and the other cakes and pastries were piled into Val’s beat up Toyota and taken off to the Turner residence for little Angela’s birthday party. Val had faked enough grins to hide her grimace at the excessively absurdity of the whole thing. Shelagh even somehow found the time to put an order in for some cakes next Saturday because the council were going to be hosting a jamboree. Val fought the eye-roll so hard.

The remainder of the day saw customers come and go as they often did. Patsy and Phyllis cleaned the kitchen down in their usual routine, bickering over the effectiveness of a little more bleach versus a little more elbow grease, again, as they often did. Val worked on printing and cutting up more delivery boxes, stickering the pastry bags, while Trixie added the finishing touches to their updated website.

Really, Val thought as she settled into the sofa in front of the television, feet on Trixie’s lap and head against Patsy’s shoulder, she’d earned the glass of wine. 

Trixie sipped her sprite, cocked her head, “I’ve often found there’s a sort of charm about a strong accent,” she considered, admiring the actor on screen. 

“I don’t quite think Richard Madden is really the focal point of this show for the other people in this room, Trixie,” Patsy responded, dry. 

Trixie rolled her eyes, “I don’t just mean him,  _ Patience-- _ ”

“Must you call me that?”

“I mean in general, it’s enticing, isn’t it? A good, strong accent.”

Val wrinkled her nose, “Only person I can think of is Shelagh and her Scottish accent. Everyone else around here all sounds exactly the same--”

“You never enunciate and it’s infuriating,” Patsy interjected. “And besides, that nurse had a rather  _ strong accent _ , wouldn’t you say, Valerie?”

Val turned to stare at her, “The Liverpudlian? Not the strongest I’ve heard it.”

“What nurses?” Trixie asked.

“I meant the one you flirted with actually,” Patsy continued. “Sounded like she was from the West Indies.”

“I did  _ not _ flirt with the nurse,” Val replied pointedly.

“ _ What _ nurses?” Trixie repeated, tone sharp. She did that eyebrow raise, the one that weakened both Val and Patsy’s reserve. “ _ Well _ ?”

“Some nurses from the hospital came by this morning,” Val said coolly. “Just after you left. They had some croissants.”

Trixie eyed her, “And you flirted with one.”

“I did not!”

“Oh, she really did. I tell you, Deels text me before and asked if you’d gotten the woman’s number and she only witnessed thirty seconds of the whole exchange,” There was that bloody smirk again.

“I should have let you go back to Hong Kong,” Val retorted.

Patsy chuckled, “You couldn’t possibly live without me.”

“Certain I could.”

“Absolutely not,” Patsy stuck her tongue. Val yanked on it. 

“Sometimes I do wonder what went down in that medical tent,” Trixie mused over her glass, watching the shenanigans.

Val cleared her throat and shook her head. The medical tent was  _ not _ something to be remembered fondly. Even if it is where her friendship with Patsy had been solidified.

“Anyway,” Patsy said. “I’ll have to agree with you on the accent front Trix.”

“Of course you do,” Trixie grinned. “How is our little dragon? I feel as though I’ve hardly seen her.”

“She’s good. Wonderful, actually,” Patsy licked her lips and paused. “Very, yes, very good.”

Val cast a look over to Trixie who returned it with raised eyebrows. Val shifted, moving to sit up straight.

Patsy faced the two of them, admiring her oddly. She held her wine glass to her face, “What?”

“Everything is okay between you, right?” Val asked gently. “I mean, you seemed fine today, it’s just that--”

“Well, sweetie, you’ve spent the last week exclusively at work or home and we...You haven’t been to Delia’s in a while and we just wanted to check in and make sure everything was alright.”

Patsy inhaled sharply, looking between them. She took another moment to consider, before smiling, “I promise you, everything is fine between Delia and I. She’s simply busy with her exams and I don’t want to be a distraction.”

Val was decidedly  _ not _ convinced. 

“But you’re okay though?” Trixie pressed. “In yourself? You’re okay?”

“I’m existing at an eight, Trixie,” Patsy said reassuringly. “Would be a ten if Val let me borrow her bed, of course, but I know how it is.”

“I offered it to you and you said the sofa bed was fine.”

“Yes, when she first moved in here three years ago,” Trixie said. 

“No backsies,” Val shrugged.

Patsy nudged her shoulder, “Thank you. For asking. But I really am quite alright.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

They turned back to the television. 

“Besides, I can’t bring a woman back to a  _ sofa bed _ in our living room, Trixie, come on.”

A cushion smacked Valerie right in the face. 

  
  



	3. chapter three

“And what, pray tell, is my girlfriend doing right now?” Delia asked from the doorway, hands firmly planted on her hips, helmet swinging from her wrist. Her head cocked to the side. 

“This is not what it looks like,” Patsy sheepishly replied. 

“I’m not quite sure what it actually looks like,” came Delia’s retort. 

“They’ve been at it all morning,” was Trixie’s unhelpful addition. 

Feet tucked up on Patsy’s lap, she leaned back in her chair, browsing some sort of magazine. Blazé was perhaps the perfect word. 

Patsy was sat on Valerie’s usual stool, hands rubbing ‘cramps’ from Trixie’s calves (she had ran a whole extra two miles that morning) while Valerie perched on the back bar, a head higher, massaging what seemed to be a tough knot from between Patsy’s shoulders. There were also fabric donkey ears affixed to the ginger up-do. 

“You three are worryingly co-dependent,” Delia commented, stepping further into the bakery. She jumped up on the counter and helped herself to Trixie’s vitamin water. 

“Hey!”

“That’s what they use to say about me and Trix in the kid’s home,” Val remarked. 

“Yes, they shared a bed until they were fifteen, I had to ask my sister if she were certain they weren’t getting up to any untoward,” Phyllis contributed from the window. 

Both Val and Trixie wrinkled their nose in disgust. 

“That’s my sister,” Val gagged. 

“Childhood traumas often come out at night Phyllis,” Trixie said, returning to flicking through her magazine, ever the image of nonchalance. “And adult traumas, I had to expand to a King when they came back from Iraq after waking up on the floor one too many times.”

Delia raises her eyebrows at this, “Oh, I didn’t know this.”

Patsy flushed, ducking her head, “I had nightmares. It—Val and Trixie—“ she stuttered. “It was needed.”

“Sharing a bed with two other women? I bet it was!”

“Deels,” Patsy started before she caught the glint in Delia’s eye. She scowled. “You’re a tease.”

“And I’m back to my original point of you three being too codependent,” Delia nodded. 

Val wrinkled her nose for the second time in that conversation, focusing her energies on the stubborn knot in Patsy’s back. 

“How do you even get it this tight?” 

“The flakey pastry, Val, the flakey pastry.”

Delia turned to Trixie, “Slow order day?”

“Quite. Our regulars have been and gone, Val sobbed because the nurse still hasn’t been back.”

“I did not sob,” Val grumbled, pressing harder. 

“OW!”

Val patted Patsy’s shoulder, “Sorry, chick.”

“I’ve just been deciphering which coffee beans to use for our new espresso machine. They have to be the right roast, you know,” Trixie lifted up the magazine. “It has to be a flavour that is unique to us, brings out our atmosphere, has our ambience.”

“Which is?” Val queried. 

“Gay energy?” Delia offered, swinging her legs. 

Trixie rolled her eyes, “Need I remind you Phyllis and I are heterosexual?”

Val paused in her actions to cast a look behind her at Phyllis. The older woman was in the process of dipping a ginger snap into her Earl Grey. She squinted. There was no way Phyllis didn’t get up to something back in the eighties. Absolutely no way. 

“What about that fleeting crush on Maddie Vickers in primary school?” She asked menacingly to Trixie. 

Trixie stares her down, “It wasn’t a crush, I just liked the cut of her hair.”

Valerie hummed. Trixie had not shut up about this girl for the whole of the first term of year three. They’d just moved to the school and fell into a group of what would be referred to as ‘popular’ girls - Trixie for her extensive boy band knowledge, Val for her charisma. She’d always been charming, see, like she told Lucille. 

Lucille. 

Val shook her head. Enough of that. 

“Anyway, I’ve narrowed it down to something of an African origin because I think a fruity roast will be easier to pair with our pastries,” Trixie carried on. “And because Patsy veto-d anything Asian-Pacific.”

“It tastes like dirt,” was a stilted reasoning. 

Val chuckled, “Oh, hello, daddy issues, I didn’t think we’d be seeing you today!”

Patsy leaned behind her to smack Val’s chest, “I loathe you many a time throughout the day, Valerie Dyer.”

“Ooh, she full named you Val, that’s how you know she’s really pissed off,” Delia laughed. 

She jumped down from the counter and made her way over to Patsy’s lap, shoving Trixie’s feet from it, claiming it for herself. 

Trixie paid no mind, adjusting her position, and commenting that “Rwanda sounds lovely.”

“What flavour notes?” Phyllis enquired.

“Honeycomb and key-lime.”

“Delectable.”

Val leaned back, resting her weight on her heels, “I hope you know I’ve not a clue about any of this - I can figure out the milk steaming no problem, but I’m not going to give them a breakdown of the beans if they ask. And they will ask. Because they’re hipsters.”

“I think you secretly want to be a hipster, you go on about hating them so much,” Patsy jibed. 

“And anyway, you will know it Val, it’s important.”

“But it’s so boring.”

“Valerie, you think anything that requires more than five minutes of focus is boring,” Trixie said. 

Val crossed her arms over her chest, “I have a condition.”

“Don’t we all,” Delia added. Then to Patsy, quietly, she asked, “Have you done it yet?”

“Deels…”

“Done what?” Valerie asked, straightening up. Investigation continued. 

Trixie met her gaze, an eyebrow raised.

Patsy shook her head, the fabric donkey ears wiggling, “I’m working on it.”

“It’s been four weeks, Patience, don’t make me say the obvious thing here.”

“I promise, don’t rush me.”

“What aren’t we rushing?” Valerie pressed. 

“Yes, please inform us,” Trixie. 

“You two are infringing on a private conversation,” Phyllis from the window. “It’s probably something personal.” A moment. “Isn’t it Patsy? Something personal?”

Patsy sighed, standing up rather brusque - Delia jumping up at the last moment - and declaring, “The pantry needs organising.” And with that she retreated back to the kitchen. 

Three sets of inquisitive eyes fell on Delia who’s phone very suddenly began to vibrate. 

She answered, “Mam? Hi, hello, hi….” and she stepped out of the store. 

“Did she just…Did she really just fake a phone call on us?” Valerie asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

Trixie blinked, “I think she did.”

“There’s something definitely happening there,” Val considered. “Reckon she’s knocked up?”

“Valerie.”

“Turkey baster!”

“Patsy and Delia are not pregnant,” Trixie said astutely. “Where would they raise this child? Delia’s in student accommodation and Patsy lives out of a suitcase and a shoebox in our living room. Think of these things.”

“Maybe she’s thinking about getting a wardrobe?” Valerie mused, tapping her chin. “Or at least a chest of drawers.”

“I don’t think potential furniture is what’s distressing our friend,” Trixie sighed. Finally setting the magazine down, she stared through to the kitchen. 

“She’s not distressed, she said she was an eight last night - that’s the best it’s ever been and it’s a whole three higher than me.”

The number scale had came about that first month back from Iraq. Individually, the three of them had always struggled to vocalise their stresses but as the waves of PTSD teetered at Val and Patsy’s minds, Trixie had devised a way for them to explain how they were without ever actually having to explain. Zero was terrible, depressed, to the point of suicidal; it increased up to ten being absolutely perfect, happiest, untouchable. 

Trixie had existed between six and eight for the last few years, Val an unwaveringly solid five for the most part. Patsy dipped and dragged all over the place but had settled at around a seven as her relationship with Delia progressed. 

It helped them manage themselves, each other, allowed their understanding and bond to thrive. 

The one stipulation was to always be truthful when it came to the number scale. 

“You’re still only a five?”

“At this rate, I always will be,” Valerie smiles, shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“You know what would improve your mood?”

“Don’t say it.”

Trixie pursed her lips, “You can’t maintain this bachelor lifestyle you have going on, you need to find someone to settle with.”

“I don’t need to settle, I’m good,” Val jumped up, clapping her hands with some excitement. “Get my love from my friends, my sex from hookups - it’s good for me.”

“Valerie, you’ve spent most of your life searching for something, has it occurred to you that it could be someone?”

“That’s cliché,” Val said pointedly. “Besides, you’re still single.”

“Yes, but at least I go on dates,” Trixie replied.

“I’m fine, Trix.”

Trixie stared her down for a long moment. Eventually, she sighed and returned to the magazine. 

“I’m going to order samples of the Rwanda, I think, and the Kenyan too.”

-

The living room was sort of thick with something upsetting when Val ascended the stairs. A little tiff with Trixie, no matter how little, always set her on edge. 

She knew, of course, that Trixie’s gentle - not gentle at all - encouragement to get her into the forays of dating came from a place of care. But it would become an irritant if it went on for too long. Yeah, so maybe some part of her, the tiniest part of her, wanted something like Pats and Delia. But then they did argue so much, and they knew most things about each other. Val couldn’t deal with that. Seemed like it would bring more harm than good, a relationship. 

Closing the door behind her, Val leaned back against it and let out a sigh. 

She knew, feasibly, at some point in their lives Trixie would meet the perfect bloke, they’d get married, have kids, live in a house without Valerie. Same with Patsy. The comfort she had now wasn’t sustainable. She’d be alone then. For the first time since she was four years old and Trixie was six. 

Yet that wasn’t happening yet, so she could coast by in her comfort zone until it started. Which is why after they closed up the shop, Val skulked down to the good ol’ Black Sail and bought a drink for the first pretty girl she saw. 

Nothing but a quick fumble, it was, and she’d made it back home in time for the ten o’clock news. 

But the television was off as were the lights and everything else. Patsy was sleeping somewhat soundly on the pull-out and there was no light coming from the gap at Trixie’s bedroom door. 

Val sighed again, rubbing her face. Her equilibrium was monumentally disturbed which, as years of this had taught her, meant she wouldn’t be able to settle when she got into bed. 

After a quick shower, change into her comfiest pjs, Valerie found herself trekking quietly across the flat, and slipping into her best friend’s room. 

Trixie still slept with pin curls in because of something to do with the bounce, Val was quite so certain. Her head poked out from the duvet and extra blankets she always slept with. Valerie smiles at the sight and then slid into bed next to her. 

A moment. Then Trixie shifted, turning into her. 

“I’m sorry,” was her garbled attempt an apology, still utterly asleep probably. “Fighting with you is one.”

Val brushed a rogue curl from her face and pulled her into a tight cuddle, “Same here. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Not even five minutes later, the door creaked. The bed shifted. An arm reached over Valerie’s waist. 

Patsy pressed herself into them. 

“Sleep, Pats,” Valerie hummed gently. “We’ll talk in the mornin’, yeah?” 

“Mm’kay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, quick little one today. I hope ur enjoying this weird little diddy, it’s quite a fun break my usual writing. Any questions or queries feel free to hit me up. Lucille and Babs will return soon as will the croquembouche with a vengeance


	4. chapter four

“Oh!”

Val paused in her yawn, directing a quizzical gaze to where Trixie stood at the front door.

The three had rolled unceremoniously out of bed at six-thirty, both Trixie and Patsy forgoing their usual morning routines - Trixie’s extensive run with a kale smoothie and Patsy’s balcony cigarette with a copy of Rousseau - to remain in the comfort of each other’s embraces. Sleep had been fitful for them, despite the company. Trixie had murmured relentlessly, Patsy shook, and Valerie definitely stopped breathing for a solid two minutes. But they managed a few winks. It was when Valerie’s alarm went off that they chose to face the day. 

Of course, they’d remained mostly silent save for a thank you when water and coffee and slightly charred toast -  _ It’s the toaster, you know, it hates me, Trixie _ . The promise of a conversation lingering above them but never being addressed. There was work to do. Trixie led them down the steep stairs into the bakery, Valerie resting her hands on her shoulders, comforting, guiding.

Patsy had padded into the kitchen, flicking the lights on, the machines, and, of course, Phyllis’ radio. It was perpetually stuck on Radio 4 but the smooth jazz and doo-wop music set the tone for the day insurmountably. 

Valerie’s opening job was to sort out the safe that sat hidden behind a curtain underneath the cash register. She’d make sure it was all in order before slotting it into the till and booting up the computer. Then, she’d potter about cleaning, dusting and brushing the main café while Trixie would prepare the order forms for Patsy to get cracking on with. 

However, Trixie had startled them all with her outcry as she raised the blinds on the front - the very first thing she would do. The front windows and door were completely glass, shelves in the windows showed cake and bread samples, the shop’s name painted on dead centre in a swirling navy. It meant that they had a clear view of anyone wandering down the hill at which the shop sat at the bottom of, and could see the shops that lined either side of the road. 

It also meant that they could see the person bundled up on the doorstep, back to them, clutching their coat tightly around them. 

“Who is it?” Val frowned, craning her neck to get a good look. 

The wimple was a dead give away. 

“Oh bloody hell,” She grumbled, returning to the safe count. 

Trixie was already unlocking the door, she stopped with her hands on her hips and looked down at the nun, “Now, Sister, how many times have I told you that we open at seven? You’re twenty five minutes too early.”

Sister Monica Joan worked over at the library with a handful of other nuns. They’d use to serve the village way back when as nurses and teachers but had settled into running the local library once the need for their calling diminished. The library was their second most commonly delivered to place - after Shelagh Turner's desk in the council offices - at the behest of one Sister Monica Joan for whom cake acted as a tonic to whatever fractures had occurred to her mind. This meant she’d just appear sometimes if Julienne or one of the other sisters took their eyes off her. Seemed the bakery was her second favourite place after the rolling basement stacks of philosophers. 

Val couldn’t really keep up with the stories and prophecies the nun would spill but she was fun to have around. 

“Forgive me, child, for I was befuddled by the curse of what is called Daylight Savings,” Monica Joan declared as she turned to look up at Trixie. “A kind soul passed through and shared my same sentiments; she entrusted me with a gift to give your shop should time catch up as it should.”

Trixie pursed her lips, “Well, I  _ do _ love a present.” She helped the nun up from the ground and gave her a warm smile. “I think I hear Patsy getting the kettle on, let’s get you a nice cup of tea before I walk you back up.”

“Tea, yes, I shall hope you have the herbal chai or chamomile.”

“We’ve only got Typhoo, I’m afraid,” Trixie sighed, rubbing Sister Monica Joan’s shoulder. 

The nun was soon seated on one of the stools and a tea sat in front of her. Valerie sat in Trixie’s usual chair, setting the computer up, losing herself in her own coffee cup. 

Trixie, herself, perched next to the nun. 

“I sense there is some unease in the atmosphere,” Monica Joan commented, eyeing the two of them. 

“Think it’s just the smell of Typhoo,” Valerie joked. It fell, of course, and she sighed. “What’s this present you’ve got then, Sister?”

“Oh yes! The gift from the exotic, kind soul.”

She removed her hands from under her coat and with them brought out a rather large white mug. The word ‘TIPS’ had been painted on in thick black letters, decorated with colourful swirls and stars. Inside, a ten pound note was taped down. 

Lucille. The devilish—

“She lamented she could not be able to give it to you herself,” Monica Joan continued. “Personally, I think you have enough of these cups and the decoration is inelegantly dreary.”

Her judgement was completely ignored by Valerie who picked up the mug and surveyed it. Lucille had come back. She’d actually come back. And left a gift, not just a gift, but a gift from an inside joke they shared. 

Val flushed. This should  _ not _ make her as happy as it was. She’d only met the bloody woman once. 

Sister Monica Joan was happily distracted when Patsy delivered some custard creams left over from the day before through the window and chatted to herself as she nibbled away. Trixie, however, stared unwaveringly at Valerie. 

“Why did someone hand our nun a tip jar to give to us, Val? And  _ why _ does it have you grinning like a lovesick fool?”

Her tone was playful, curious, and determined all at once. 

“One of the nurses from the other day wanted to tip after I gave them the croissants on the house - told her we didn’t have a tip jar,” Val kept her attention on the mug, turning it over in her hands. “So she made us a tip mug.”

Trixie continued to watch her for a moment and Val knew perfectly well she was weighing up whether to continue probing or not. Thankfully, it was the latter and Trixie simply adorned a smile. 

“Well, how nice of her. Now, out of my chair, Patsy needs her orders.”

  
  


-

  
  


With Trixie busy, Val offered to return Sister Monica Joan backup to the library. It was only five minutes away up the hill, and the sisters lived in a large house just next door to it. Not exactly a convent but it certainly stood like one. 

During their walk, Sister Monica Joan stopped multiple times to just stare at Valerie. On the fifth occurrence of this, Val turned to her with a huff, “Is there something on your mind Sister?”

“You see yourself to be Icarus, but you will never know the heat of the sun if you do not allow yourself to fly.”

Valerie cocked her head, crossed her arms, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“How does one decipher what is already obvious?” Sister Monica Joan tsked and carried on walking. 

She didn’t stop for the rest of the journey. 

  
  


-

  
  


“We should have moved to the city,” Valerie mused on her return. “Less crackpot nuns about.”

“You love her really,” Trixie said, sifting through a handful of papers. “Pats, you’ve got three two-tiers needed for two pm, I’ll come behind and help you as soon as we’ve set Delia off.”

“What flavour?”

“Two lemon drizzle, one red velvet.”

“Marvellous, simple.”

“She called me Icarus. Or said I  _ think _ I’m Icarus but I can’t fly, I don’t even know what that means,” Valerie continued chatting as she dropped into her stool. 

Patsy took the papers from Trixie, and rested at the window for a moment, “Did she say you can’t fly or that you don’t allow yourself to fly?”

“What’s it matter?”

“It matters.”

At Val’s vacant gaze, Patsy shook her head, “Nevermind.”

“Is it an insult? Did I get insulted by a nun? For something  _ not  _ to do with my raging—“

“Valerie, the nuns love you gays - Sister Julienne is first in line to officiate Patsy and Delia’s inevitable wedding,” Trixie remarked. Val wasn’t convinced of that. “Besides, you know Sister Monica Joan comes out with an all manner of things, it’s best not to take it to heart.”

“She  _ did _ tell Delia once that her bones smelled heavy,” Patsy affirmed. 

“And she care in that day throwing weeds at Patsy for her to use in a cake to save from the repugnance of compost.”

Val still pouted, and then she asked, “Do you two think I’m an Icarus?”

“Valerie,” Trixie intercepted as Patsy withdrew and closed the window. 

“I’m going to be decorating all day, will you be okay on your own out here?”

Valerie rolled her eyes, “We’ve been doing this for a year, Trix, I can manage the customers - it’s what I’m best at.”

Trixie nodded, “Just keep your hands busy.”

“Not in public.”

Trixie smacked her upside the head. 

  
  


-

  
  


The morning was steady. Trixie, Patsy, and Phyllis fluttered about the kitchen in perfect synchronicity. Delia came and went with the deliveries. Val kept herself occupied playing games on the computer, dusting the displays, oh, and bleeding the radiator like she’d promised she’d sort weeks ago. 

In fact, she kept herself so busy, it was an hour before she realised she’d received a text message. 

**Unknown (12:32):** You never said anything about a tip mug…….

**Unknown (12:32):** This is Lucille by the way. The nurse. 

Valerie flushed. She’d clarified. As if she could forget. 

**Valerie (13:58):** The tip mug is very pretty - the stars and hearts were Barbara?

**Valerie (13:58):** Although you’re getting the tenner back

**Lucille (13:59):** Nope. All me! And I’m not! It’s your business earnings. 

**Valerie (13:59):** Trix bought a five k coffee machine the other day, we’re really alright

**Lucille (14:00):** Still…….

**Lucille (14:00):** Sorry I couldn’t give it to you in person, I was planning to wait for you to open but one of my mothers called in a panic and I had to get across town. 

**Lucille (14:01):** Seems I entrusted the right kind stranger

**Valerie (14:01)** : Dont sweat it darlin, babies’ll do what they do. SMJ is a good one, weird but good. 

**Valerie (14:01):** She called you kind too. And I’m inclined to agree

**Lucille (14:02):** You’ve known me for about thirty minutes, Valerie. 

**Valerie (14:02):** Mum always said my best feature is my intuition

**Lucille (14:02):** I thought it was your charm?

**Valerie (14:03):** Oh so you agree you think I’m charming?

**Lucille (14:03):** I never said that. 

**Valerie (14:03):** Must have been my intuition

No response came for another five minutes. And then another. And another after that. Soon, thirty minutes had gone by and Valerie had sat staring back at her own blasted blue box wondering if maybe, just  _ maybe _ , she’d come on too strong. 

But was it? She wrinkled her nose. This was not her forté. Sure, give her a queer bar and a dry gin and she was the smoothest criminal out there. 

Lucille was disarming. Fresh, addicting, but it set her nerves off. And for that, she didn’t know why. Lucille was fit, no, downright gorgeous. Val’s type to a tea and a brainiac - because who just  _ becomes _ a nurse  _ and _ a midwife these days - to boot. Val wagered she’d probably be a good lay, a  _ great _ one more likely. That’s all this was. Attraction. It’d been a while since she’d had a good chase. 

(The last time had been Patsy for all of forty-eight hours before she’d suffered the most humiliating rebuttal she ever had. They mutually vowed to never speak of it again. 

Val wondered idly if Delia knew).

Valerie licked her lips and locked her phone, resigned to blowing her shot but determined to aim another. Once Lucille had been put to bed, literally and figuratively, the unease she caused her would go away. Simple. 

Easy. 

Right. 

Now, the light bulbs, they could do with a change, right?

  
  


-

  
  


“You know, Trixie, I know you enjoy your managerial duties but the baking world truly lost a marvel when you decided to leave the kitchen,” Patsy cocked her head, admiring the perfectly delicate decoration on the three cakes before her. 

Trixie gazed lovingly at her creations, “I’m hardly Delia Smith, Patsy, I just know how to make a sponge beautiful - you’re the one that makes them taste great.”

“No one ever said the hardest part of working in a bakery was that you don’t get to try the final products of the big cakes,” Val lamented, hanging through the window into the kitchen. 

“One more rib over that ledge, young lady, and you’ll be getting a quick spritz,” Phyllis warned, a finger pointed to her. 

Val leaned back. 

“It’s for the best,” Trixie said. “I’d need more than one run a day to keep my waistline down if we were snacking all day. I don’t know how you manage down ten croissants a morning.”

“I do a lot of heavy lifting around here,” She flexed a bicep. 

Patsy squinted, “You struggled to pick up a five kilo bag of flour off the delivery truck last week. Just call it a high metabolism and be done.” She looked back down to the cakes. “Phyllis will you drive these? Delia’s indisposed with revision, thankfully, and I can’t get in Valerie’s death trap.”

“It’s electric!” 

Phyllis nodded and took a break from her bread rolling to help Patsy package them up. 

“You know, Patsy, you could just  _ tell _ your girlfriend that you don’t trust her on a bicycle with the bigger orders,” Trixie picked at a bit of leftover marzipan. 

Patsy stilled, “I can't do that.”

“Why? Isn't honesty the key to every relationship's happiness?” Val asked around a chocolate chip cookie she’d liberated from the shelf. 

“Well, you see, it’s important not to be  _ completely  _ honest sometimes if that honesty is going to cause more harm than good,” Patsy explained flippantly, continuing to box up the cakes. 

Trixie didn’t give up, “You’ve to make five three foot tall croquembouches at the weekend for the council soirée and you don’t think she’s going to want to help deliver?”

“Just tell her to get over herself and get a van. It’d mean less trips for her and, you know, _croquembouche_.”

“Valerie, I’m never getting the hours back I lost the  _ last _ time I asked her about investing in a motor vehicle. Three hours,” Patsy whined. “And there were graphs. Graphs! And maps of deforestation!”

“You can tell she’s getting a doctorate,” Phyllis interjected. “Quite an impressive presentation if I recall.”

“And you three only got _twenty minutes_ of it! Oh she went on and on and I do really, _truly_ , love her but her methods of delivery are very intense and...”

As entertaining as an unduly distressed Patsy was, Valerie was hastily pulled from her enjoyment by the sound of her phone chiming. Without even the foresight to  _ not _ look too eager, she jumped over to the register to see a new text. 

**Magda (16:22):** I need to talk to you about something. 

Valerie let out a groan, dropping her phone, and cradling her head in her hands. 

Bloody Magda. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah.


	5. chapter five

For the second night in a row, Valerie returned home late. Only this time, thankfully, Trixie and Patsy were very much still awake. The relieved sigh escaped her lips and she found herself somewhat  _ bounding _ over to the balcony to join her friends.

Three chairs, surrounded by plant pots and an antique watering can that doubled as an ashtray, sat on the little balcony overlooking the street. Trixie had entangled fairy lights around the railings, adding an ambience once the sun had set. Patsy had rigged up a heat lamp so they could use their outdoor salvation even in the most blistering of weather. Sister Monica Joan, along with Julienne and Evangelina, were the source of the plants, the former excitedly donating a new one whenever she could.

Valerie slid the door shut behind her, dropping unceremoniously into the seat between them and letting out a long, pained groan.

Trixie reached over her to pass the cigarette back to Patsy, “How was it?” She asked.

“As terrible as it always is.”

Patsy frowned in sympathy, “What did she have to say for herself?”

Valerie leaned back and closed her eyes, “What does she ever have to say? I break her heart every time I don’t visit. That she wants me back. But I can’t.”

“She cheated on you,” Trixie said, voice sharp. “She broke your heart first.”

“I know,” Valerie sighed. Rubbing her eyes, she then looked between them both. “She wanted to invite me to his birthday party; I said I’d think about it.”

“Valerie, no,” Trixie sat up, taking Val’s hands in her’s. “This happened last year, don’t put yourself through it again.”

Patsy hummed in agreement and blew out a cloud of smoke, “She made her choice, Val. You shouldn’t let her use him to get to you like this.”

Magda had been Valerie’s high school sweetheart. They were friends who fell into a comfortable relationship in the last few months of year eleven and their love continued to blossom for a long while after. She’d stuck by Val when she’d had those terrible arguments with Trixie, her mother, and Phyllis about enlisting, stuck by her through training and deployment; Val figured Magda would stick by her forever.

Only Val got off the plane after her first ten month stint abroad to her girlfriend nearly at full term with a baby that  _ definitely wasn’t _ hers. 

Oh how Magda had apologised, and pleaded, and cried. And Val couldn’t help it, she’d forgiven her. Bought a crib for their flat, helped paint the spare room into a nursery. 

Trixie had read her the riot act,  _ of course _ , and denounced Magda’s involvement in their life. Val had been placid, had been since she found out, and just let Trixie rant and rage, went home and carried on to prepare to raise a child. Trixie couldn’t shake her out of the stupor. 

Phillip had been born the day after Valerie was notified of her next deployment. She almost quit on the spot when his tiny hand trapped her thumb in a tight grasp. His eyes were wide, so bright and excitable, and her heart thrummed hard for the little boy. It was an incomprehensible love.

Magda declared she’d put her name on the birth certificate and they dealt with the complexities of newborn rearing together as Valerie’s deployment date grew closer and closer. 

She’d slipped one of his blankets into her bag, photographs too, and cried unashamedly as she said goodbye in the airport. Phillip, too young to understand what was going on, just reached out of his mother’s arms for Valerie. The tears didn’t stop until she touched down in Germany. 

Back in the Middle East, she met Doctor Patience Mount after an ambush ended with a bullet lodged in her shoulder and spent the recovery gushing over her son to her new, and overwhelmed doctor-friend. She’d go to sleep holding his blanket, counting down the days until she’d get to see him again.

Until the Dear John letter and then the IUD and her whole world fell apart. 

They were moving to a new base, her and a handful of other guys, Patsy included. She hadn’t been thinking clearly behind the wheel. The letter had taunted her mind. 

Magda had reconnected with Phillip’s father, they were going to raise him together. She didn’t love her anymore. Phillip was too young to remember her. They’d be gone when she came home and she mustn’t try looking for them. Valerie veered off route. And then it happened.

Her and Patsy had been wedged under metal for hours before anyone turned up to help them. The pain distracted from the letter, it was welcome almost, she passed out in the rescue vehicle.

Valerie squeezed Trixie’s hands back before letting go, “I said I’d think about it, wasn’t a yes.”

“Honestly,” Trixie shook her head at her. “She’s strung you along for four years now, Valerie, you need to cut her out.”

Patsy handed her the cigarette, “Take it from me, Trixie’s always right about these things.”

Valerie lit it up and leaned back in her chair, “I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” Patsy replied frankly. “ _ Icarus _ .”

“Patsy,” Trixie warned.

“You should ask the nurse on a date,” Patsy followed up. Val went to retort. “I’m not saying this in a sordid way. You’ve tried to scrub out Magda with a series of uncaring one-night stands and it’s not working. Because it’s not just her you need to get over - it’s Phillip too.” She sighed and eyed Valerie carefully. “You need to...I’m going to repeat to you the very same statement  _ you _ said to  _ me _ when I first met Delia: you need to let yourself be vulnerable with someone, but most of all, you need someone to love, Valerie.”

Valerie digested silently as she smoked. Dropped pain au raisins may have been the start of the greatest love story ever told but the road to the question cake had been paved with many a burnt scone.

“Patsy has a point,” Trixie said, a small smile pushing at her lips. “You need to not be so afraid of being hurt again.”

“It’s not about  _ me _ , Trix. It’s about the people that _ I hurt _ when I’m hurting,” Valerie sighed.

“You mustn’t keep blaming yourself for the IUD, it wasn’t your fault,” Patsy said, serious. 

“I was distracted.”

“You weren’t even a metre off the path!” 

“And Lee  _ died _ !” Valerie barked back. The cigarette was tossed over the fence in anguish. “You weren’t driving the car that blew her up!”

“No, but I was damn well the doctor that couldn’t save her,” Patsy retorted. Her hands began to shake and she caught her lip hard between her teeth.

Trixie stood at that, standing before them both, “You two need to calm down. Patsy, calm--Will you calm down!” She smacked Patsy’s hand. “You’re here. Safe. And Jenny Lee’s death was  _ tragic _ , I know, but you needn’t keep circulating the blame around your heads - I’d wager you’re both as weary as each other about this.” 

Patsy and Val shared a glance, Val reaching over to take Patsy’s hand. There were scars littering it, defacing it. Often, Valerie couldn’t look at them. Patsy would be kneading dough and the sight of those wounds make her sick to her stomach. Trapped under the twisted chasse, Patsy’s left hand had been entangled in some parts of the engine, rendering it useless for six months. Turns out baking was pretty decent physiotherapy for damaged ligaments and nerve endings.

Val ran her thumb over one of the thicker scars.

“The nurse left you a customised tip jar,” Patsy croaked. “She seems smitten. And even if you aren’t to end up with her, perhaps, she’s someone you could try to be vulnerable with.”

“Her name’s Lucille,” Valerie offered.

“Pretty,” Trixie smiled that gentle, reassuring smile she often did.

Valerie nodded, her eyes flitting between the two. With a resounding sigh, she brought Patsy’s hand up to kiss it before she let go to pull Trixie into a tight hug.

Trixie chuckled airily and allowed herself to be pulled onto Valerie’s lap, “I love you,” She said softly.

“Yeah, you too.”

Patsy observed the moment, a wallflower if ever there was a more appropriate term, holding some sort of sadness about her eyes.

“Now, Patsy, the time for being sombre has passed,” Trixie nudged her with her foot. 

“Sorry,” She replied sheepishly, but her voice remained low and her eyes cast distant out onto the street.

Valerie frowned. Patsy began to clench and then unclench her hand, rolling her fingers over one another - a nervous tick she’d procured over time. It seemed Trixie saw it too.

“What’s wrong, chick?” Valerie pressed. 

She didn’t figure she’d get an answer given the track record of the last few days. But Patsy surprised her by turning to face the two of them.

Patsy exhaled, relaxed her hand, and then shook her head, “I’m afraid I have...some news.”

“Oh?” Trixie straightened up, her fingers immediately intertwining with Val’s. “Whatever could it be?”

Valerie wondered, “Are you being deployed again?”

At that, Patsy’s eyes widened and a resounding ‘no’ burst from her lips. 

“Never again, I...No, not that,” She cleared her throat, crossed her legs at the knee, and simply said, “Delia and I are going to find a flat together.”

“Oh,” Trixie deflated.

“Is that it?” Val laughed. “That’s what you were afraid to tell us? That you’re going to help your girlfriend move out of student digs? Give over, Pats.”

“Val…” Trixie started. 

Patsy paused for a beat, “What I mean, Valerie, is...after this semester, Delia wants to move into private accommodation - an actual flat, you see - and I...will be moving with her,  _ in _ with her.”

Valerie stiffened. 

“Right.”

“She asked me if it was something I’d consider about a month ago now,” Patsy hurried on, not meeting their eyes. “I’ve been so...I already spent most nights in her dormitory anyway, it feels as though I’ve been living with her for months.” She bit her lip. “But I suppose I could always leave, come back here - home - to you two and-...” Her voice trailed off, she looked out to the street again, searching. 

“Patsy, you’ve been living in our sitting room out of a single suitcase and that little shoebox for three years,” Trixie said. “The sofa bed will always be there for you should you ever need it but if you’re terribly serious about Delia, as I think you are, I think this would be good.”

“I believe so too,” Patsy smiled. “There are places we’ve been to see, only to get an idea of course, it’s still a while away, but they’re never far - five minutes by bike, Delia timed. She knows I couldn’t go too far.”

“Well, you do work here, we wouldn’t want you to quit over a daunting commute.”

Valerie had a tight grip on Trixie, overcome with the feeling of drowning but still being able to breathe, sinking lower and lower into a deafness of uncertainty. 

Patsy caught her stare, “Val?”

It was happening. Patsy was going to leave and then soon Trixie would because  _ really _ how was she still single and then what? Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“Val, you heard Patsy, they’re only looking around the corner and she’ll still be here each day for work.”

_ But for how long? _

As they’d shared a recovery - Valerie dealing with her atrocious scars and Pats with her dexteral immobility - Patsy had lamented about retraining as a general practitioner when her hand regained enough strength. She hadn’t mentioned it since they’d opened the bakery, Val figured she’d forgotten about it, found joy in the baked goods just like she had, found happiness in their little life together.

But here she was,  _ leaving _ her. Val wagered it wouldn’t be long until a pompously written resignation letter was left folded on Trixie’s keyboard.

_ No _ . This is what it did, whatever was going on in her thick skull, it would spiral into unrelenting negativity, ridiculous scenarios that would vilify entirely innocent people. Val knew Patsy - she wouldn’t just leave them, they were best friends, her  _ family _ she’d said just a few days ago. Patsy would be in her life forever. She needed to stop it, stop allowing herself to think this way. God, she needed therapy. 

Not that she’d ever actively admit it and seek it out, of course.

“I’ve been so uncertain,” Patsy said thickly. “But I rationalised, with the help of Delia, that nothing would change  _ really _ . I’m with Delia most evenings, you ladies most days. My shoebox would simply just be elsewhere.”

Val pushed a smile on her lips, “I’m proud of you, Pats.”

Patsy ducked her head, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“No, you’d be in Hong Kong,” Trixie added sternly. “Which would wreak absolute havoc on your complexion, I can’t fathom how you could even  _ think _ of going back there.”

“I didn’t have any family left here.”

“And now you do,” Val nodded. 

Patsy grinned and then cleared her throat, “Now the nurse…”

Valerie rolled her eyes, “There is nothing happening with the nurse. And even if there  _ were _ , I blew my shot.”

“What?” Trixie queried. 

Patsy spat: “ _ How _ on earth?” 

“Gave her a business card, you know, with my number for deliveries,” Val shrugged. “Text me asking if I got the jar and—TRIX!”

Suddenly, a hand was in her back pocket, wrestling her phone out. 

Trixie proudly presented it to Patsy, who keyed in Val’s password easily. Damn their propensity for sharing. She huffed, pushing Trixie from her lap and back into her own chair. 

Patsy clicked through her messages. 

“Oh,  _ Lucille _ ?” She smirked. 

“Well, I hardly think you’ve blown it,” The phone was tossed back into her hand. 

**Lucille (20:22):** Sorry I fell asleep. Night shifts again. You may be charming but not enough to fend off sleep. 

_ Oh.  _

Valerie could do nothing but gape at the screen. 

“ _ Well _ ?” Trixie pressed expectantly, hands on her hips. 

“I don’t…” Val furrowed her brow. “Do you...Do you think I could be…” 

“If you say good enough I’m going to throttle you.”

“I second that,” Patsy jibed. 

Val turned the phone over in her hands, thinking. She had great plans for the nurse, for Lucille, to get around the thumping her heart made at the passing thought of her. Get her into bed and be done with it. 

But Pats and Trix made a point, as they always often did, and maybe she needn’t stop the movement of her heart but lean into it. Let herself get swept up in the potential and panic of it all. Let herself  _ be vulnerable _ . 

And then she stopped. The phone clenched tight in her hands. Ahead of herself, she was getting too ahead of herself. 

They’d talked, briefly, in person and over text. Lucille was a nurse who was left cranky after late night shifts. She was good at arts and crafts and lived with another nurse named Barbara. Her accent gave way for notion of her history but besides those handful of facts, Val knew absolutely nothing about this woman. She’d thought she was beautiful, that’s all. 

And here she was, planning some great show of vulnerability by letting herself date the nurse. 

Blimey. She didn’t even know if she liked women. 

Her phone buzzed in her hands. 

**Lucille (20:31):** Barbara would like to place an order for 2pm tomorrow - doughnuts for the maternity ward, the sugariest you have. 

Val swallowed hard, flushing under Trixie and Patsy’s watchful stares. 

**Valerie (20:31):** Sweet dreams?

**Valerie (20:31):** How many doughnuts would one need to fill a whole maternity ward?

**Lucille (20:32):** Too exhausted to dream, I feel refreshed though. Let’s say about thirty, we can pass some to the mothers too. 

**Valerie (20:32):** Never too tired to dream, just not worth remembering

**Lucille (20:33):** Haha. Maybe. 

“Oh, she’s smiling, Trixie, she’s  _ smiling _ ,” Patsy was leaning forward, pointed chin resting on the heel of her hand. 

“Spill, Val, we don’t have all night.”

“Barbara, the other nurse, wants to order thirty doughnuts for two pm tomorrow - as sugary as possible,” Val waved offhandedly. 

Patsy looked perturbed. Val snapped a picture and sent it to Lucille.

“Val!”

**Valerie (20:34):** Pats rejects your request. Sorry. 😔

**Lucille (20:35):** Oh you’ve got poor Barbara in tears. 

**Valerie (20:35):** I kid. She’ll be more than happy to fry some balls for you two. 

**Valerie (20:35):** Because that’s what doughnuts are.

**Valerie (20:35):** Not actual balls. She’s not a misandrist. 

**Valerie (20:35):** although

“Smooth,” Patsy commented, leaning enough to read the conversation. “And I resemble that remark.”

“I think the proper term is resent, Patience.”

“No, Trixie, no it isn’t.”

**Lucille (20:36):** It’s late for the shops here to be open; why are you still at work?

**Valerie (20:36):** I’m not. I mean, I sort of am because we live above the shop. But we closed at six. 

**Lucille (20:36):** You live with your lesbian baker?

“Interesting word choice,” Trixie mused. “Sounds possibly jealous? Or homophobic?”

“Val, does she like women?”

“Well, here’s the thing…”

“Valerie. You  _ don’t _ know?!” 

**Valerie (20:37):** Yeah. She lives on the pullout sofa. Trixie and me were here first so we got the bedrooms. 

**Lucille (20:38):** That’s cute. That you all live together. I thought she would have lived with her girlfriend.

**Valerie (20:39):** She will be soon it seems like. We’ll have our sofa bed back at least. 

**Valerie (20:39):** If you ever get into a fight with Barbara, it’s all yours as soon as Christina Hendricks gets out of here. 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Patsy rolled her eyes. 

**Lucille (20:40):** Will it be you or Delia delivering to the hospital tomorrow? 

“Ooh, it’s getting interesting,” Trixie lit another cigarette. 

**Valerie (20:41):** Probably Delia. She has an early afternoon delivery slot we can wedge you in. 

**Lucille (20:41):** I’ll tell them to look out for the short brunette, not the long one. 

**Valerie (20:41):** Long? I’m not that bloody tall!!

**Lucille (20:41):** You're tall enough

**Valerie (20:42):** For what?

**Lucille (20:42):** I look forward to Delia’s delivery tomorrow, Valerie. 

“I’m absolutely perplexed,” Patsy leaned back, her own cigarette in hand now. “She seems flirtatious but then…”

“Restrictive,” Trixie concludes. “You know what this means, don’t you, Val?”

Valerie looked up from her phone, dazed, and then blinked. 

“What?”

“You simply must deliver the doughnuts tomorrow,” Trixie said simply.

Patsy let out an indignant grumble, “Why must she want  _ doughnuts _ ? Of all things, seriously.”

Val gave her a sad smile. Patsy and doughnuts were a complicated sort of relationship - she could make most everything with perfect precision, but doughnuts never seemed to be a ship to conquer. This was mostly due to the turbulent nature of the oil and fryer and the blisters she’d been left with after an awful incident when she considered her hand stronger than it was. Ever since, she’d held the American speciality in hesistence. 

“Just because it’s  _ one _ single thing you once failed to do flawlessly, Patience.”

“I mean, I still do it flawlessly, I just find them... _ uncouth _ .”

Val was definitely not convinced by that, “Sure,” She murmured sarcastically.

Her phone buzzed once more but this time it was a text from Magda. Val wrinkled her nose, swiping the conversation away for now. 

This night was for the future, potential had been recognised -- Patsy was  _ moving in with Delia _ for christs’ sake! Who would have thought  _ that _ would be possible for her only six months ago? Not Val or Trix, that’s for sure.

At some point, rather soon, Val wagered, the past would truly need to be laid to rest. But, for now, it could simply be pushed aside for new possibilities. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got away from me but we love a backstory and gals being pals


	6. chapter six

“Twelve pound? I’m certain it was only seven the last time we brought Patsy here,” Trixie’s eyebrows raised like a cartoon over her exaggerated cat-eye sunglasses. “The NHS truly is starved for funding.”

Val hummed in agreement, reaching for the little slip of paper out of the ticket machine. She tossed it idly into Trixie’s lap, driving steadily as the barrier lifted.

Piled in the back were three boxes of doughnuts, a dozen in each. Patsy had said the best way to impress the nurse would be through charitably making a little extra. Val had wrinkled her nose but relented. Delia  _ had  _ certainly been more mailable to Patsy’s charms after being presented with a different type of scone each morning.

(We needn’t discuss the attempt at barabrith that ensued a silent treatment for two days). 

Boxes tucked under their arms, they made their way through the sliding doors and suddenly both paused. 

“Flaw in the flawless plan, Trix,” Val said dryly. “I can’t for the life of me remember how to get to the maternity ward.”

Trixie surveyed the map on the wall in front of them, craning her head as she did so, “They never make these things easy,” She grumbled before stopping a passerby in navy scrubs. 

“Sorry to bother you, we’re looking for the maternity ward and I can’t seem to locate it on this map,” Trixie fluttered her eyelashes and gave her charming smile. 

The girl, far too young looking to be in scrubs Val thought, surveyed them both for a moment. 

“I-I’m actually heading there myself, you can—follow me, yes,” She smiled, shaking slightly. 

“Oh, wonderful!” Trixie beamed brightly, falling into a casual and natural chatter with the Nervous Girl. 

Val followed behind, head bowed. She hated the bloody place. Every department, it felt like, had some sort of horrible memory for her. Dermatology for her scars, Maternity for Magda, General for Trixie’s check ups, Physiotherapy for Patsy’s hand, and the bleedin’ A&E for numerous occurrences mostly involving Delia’s love affair with the ground or Phyllis’ inability to  _ feel a burn _ . It made her uncomfortable, the most unsettled. 

Really, she should have just given the delivery to Deels. 

But then Lucille. 

Damn it. 

The lift ride up to the Third Floor Maternity, Obstetrics, and Gynaecology department was uneventful, save for the crippling anxiety radiating from Nervous Girl who soon introduced herself as Frances, a student nurse on her first module in hospital. Val pitied the girl. Nothing like being thrown into the deep end. 

As the doors parted, Valerie found herself thrust back to four years prior and the birth of her son but Trixie’s gentle squeeze of her arm brought her back to the present. 

“Is it—Um, is there anyone in particular that I can get for you?” Frances stammered out. 

Trixie nodded, “We’re here for two of your nurses, actually, Barbara and Lucille? Do you know them?”

Before Frances could answer, however, a familiarly devilish voice called out from one of the desks. 

“I thought I was expecting the small one?” Lucille asked, chin resting on her hand, hooded eyes admiring Valerie somewhat. 

Val inhaled sharply, expressing from her nose in a quick move, she smiled to the woman, “She’s busy distracting our baker with her Wiley Welsh ways. Besides, I brought another small one - she’s blonde though.”

“Rude!” Trixie gaped, bounding over to the desk. “I’m Trixie, and you must be Lucille.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Trixie, Valerie spoke highly of you,” Lucille shook her hand. She cast a flickering glance to Val and smirked. 

“I can say the same right back,” Trixie beamed. “Thank you for the tip mug, it’s absolutely darling.”

“Oh, yeah,” Val shifted the boxes to one arm so she could pull a ten pound note from her pocket. Some lint had stuck to the remaining tape. She popped on the desk in front of Lucille. 

Lucille looked down at it, jaw slack. 

“It seems my first thought about you was correct,” She blinked back up to Val. 

“Charming?”

“Incorrigible.”

Val winked, she set her two boxes down on the desk, “Three dozen doughnuts - Barbara’s charge o’course.”

Trixie observed the entire exchange, a smirk about her face and an eye roll imminent. 

Whether it was the call of her name or the scent of the sugar, Barbara appeared rather suddenly, bumbling down the corridor with an excited kick in her step. 

“Valerie, hello!” She declared loudly, siddling behind the desk.

Val gave her a little wave.

Shaking her head only lightly, Trixie found herself grinning at Barbara’s enthusiasm before saying, “Phyllis would say that hello is too colloquial for a professional greeting.”

Barbara’s face fell, “Oh. I-I’m sorry, I--”

“But I rather think we’re going to be quite friendly especially if you continue to place large orders with us,” Trixie continued. “I’m Trixie, I own the bakery with Val here.”

“You do!” Barbara reached to shake her hand, boundless energy about her. “And you both  _ actually _ delivered the doughnuts?”

“‘Course, we did - you ordered, Pats baked, we deliver,” Val rapped her knuckles lightly on the box. 

“It’s truly magnificent,” Barbara stared wistfully at the box. Her tongue poked out to lick her lips. 

“Hmm,” Lucille hummed, eyeing Valerie. 

“That’s why we started the business,” Trixie said, smirking. She handed her box to Barbara, “Pleasure to serve our nurses. I know you only ordered thirty, sweetie, but we threw in a few more at no extra charge.”

Barbara quickly handed over a handful of notes before practically diving into the box. 

“There’s plain sugared ring, jam, and custard obviously,” Trixie pocketed a few of the notes, sliding Barbara’s change towards her. “Patsy wanted to get adventurous given the freedom and so you’ll find mango curd, lemon curd, and white chocolate ones in there too.”

Barbara and Trixie soon dissolved into a deep conversation about sweet treats. 

Valerie handed a box to Lucille, “Here.”

“I’ll have to try that mango,” Lucille’s tongue poked her through her lips slightly. 

Val stared. Those lips. The  _ tongue _ . 

Oh. God. 

Lucille turned and met her eyes, face contorting into…a question?

“Do you want to go on a date?” Val blurted out, completely against herself. Her own eyes widened as she realised what had transpired.a breath rattled out from behind her lips. “With me,” she tacked on weakly. “If you...are inclined—that way-uh, that way inclined.”

_ Shut your bloody mouth _ . 

Her jaw snapped shut so hard her teeth hurt. 

Lucille arched one perfect eyebrow and lifted a doughnut to her lips. 

“Yes.”

Wait, what?

Valerie squeaked, “Pardon?”

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you, Valerie,” Lucille smiled softly before she took a bite. 

“Oh. Nice. Cool,” Val sniffed and looked around. “Cool, cool, cool.”

Lucille’s chuckle at her behaviour honestly should  _ not  _ have been so charming. 

It disarmed her. She couldn’t speak. Just stood there, gaping like a fool. 

Lucille stared at her. 

Jesus Christ. 

Words, you idiot!

“I think,” Valerie cleared her throat. “Uh, we should—Trix, we...Patsy has  _ terrible _ customer service, I think we’ve left her alone too…” Her smile was forced, urgency behind her tone. 

Trixie frowned, “I’m sure Pats—” But she stopped, appraised Valerie’s rigidity. “Yes. You’re right.”

With her wide eyes and toothy grin, Trixie bid adieu to Barbara and Lucille, Valerie herself choking out an undignified ‘see you later’.

Lucille called after them, “Tomorrow night, Valerie!”

She dropped down in the driver’s seat, forehead finding purchase against the horn and she bat her head down on the steering wheel. 

“What…” Trixie lit up a secret. “...was  _ that  _ about?”

“I have a date.”

-

“I  _ don’t _ have terrible customer service,” Patsy said astutely from behind the window. “I’m simply used to my customers being soldiers who need mending immediately, so what if I’m a little brusque?”

“Been discharged for two years, love,” Delia slurped her Typhoo. 

Patsy harrumphed.

Delia brought a hand down to pat the back of Valerie’s head. She was perched, legs swinging, on the counter next to Valerie who’d flopped on a chair and rested her head in her hands upon her and Trixie’s return from the hospital. 

“This isn’t the reaction I thought we’d get after you secured a date,” She said calmly. Evidently, Pats had filled her in. 

Trixie rolled her eyes, hands on her hips, “Of  _ course _ , it is. I was having a wonderful chat with Barbara - do you know I never thought the Liverpool accent could be...adorable.

Val turned her head to squint at Trixie.  _ That _ was unexpected. 

“I think we’ve got a good customer there.”

“I do quite enjoy a ‘surprise me’ order,” Patsy mused, thoughtfully. 

“I couldn’t speak, Trix,” Valerie whined. “I don’t know what came over me, she just...has this  _ look _ like she sees right through me, like she _ knows _ me already. It’s terrifying.”

“It’s called vulnerability, Val, we spoke about this last night,” Trixie said pointedly. 

“I’m denouncing my lesbianism.”

“Sometimes I see the shower drain after Delia’s washed her hair and I share the same sentiment.”

“ _ Patience _ ,” Delia started in that worryingly firm tone. It vanished when she addressed Valerie, “It’s always a bit nerve-wracking putting yourself out there, asking someone out.” She squeezed her shoulder. “Happens to the best of us.”

Val rested her head at Delia’s hip, “Delia, you were never a speechless idiot around Patsy. You  _ told  _ her to ask you out.”

“I just didn’t let it show,” Delia raked her fingers through Val’s hair. “She’s intimidatingly gorgeous, you know? Posh, well-educated, and I’m just me.”

“Delia, you’re wonderful and besides, your entire academic career is at  _ King's _ not some polytechnic,” Patsy interjected. 

“There’s nothing wrong with a polytechnic,” Trixie pursed her lips, her MBA proudly framed on the wall next to where Patsy’s head poked out of the window. She continued, “Val, you simply have to take Delia’s method in this sort of thing: don’t show your nerves.”

“A little is alright, makes you humble and a tad cute, but push the rest of it down,” Delia advised. 

“How?” Val asked, croaking. 

Patsy was leaning through the window, arms folded, listening keenly. Trixie had fallen into a chair and was preoccupied with a magazine. 

“Well, what’s the worst that could happen on this one date?”

“So many things,” Val essentially wailed. 

Delia gave her a sad sort of frown, cradling her head in her lap, “No. The worst thing is that the chemistry could just not be there—”

“Unlikely,” Trixie called over. 

“—and you won’t work out which is perfectly  _ fine _ . You could still be friends, or just go about your lives separately.”

“But—”

“Embarrassment is only a temporary shame,” Delia said frankly. “A few days, or a few weeks max if you’re anything like Pats—”

“I feel as though today is simply a day to  _ insult _ me.”

“—But you’ll get over it. The important thing to learn from all of this, Val, is that you  _ can _ put yourself out there and get dating again.”

“Inspiring,” commented Trixie, dry. She flipped a magazine page sharply. “Do you know I’ve a mind to go down to London with Delia tonight, find Magda and— _ Ugh _ !” She let out a cry of frustration. “She really did ruin you.”

“ _ Thanks _ ,” Val squinted at her once more. 

“Deels is staying with us tonight,” Patsy informed, checking her nails in a not at all discreet way. Her cheeks flushed red. 

“You know the rules,” Trixie pointed a finger between the both of them. 

The rules were a mattress cover tacked over the sofa-bed and a vow of silence to be taken during any potential occurrence because both Val and Trix were ridiculously light sleepers. ‘Course Patsy was entirely too skittish to even consider defiling Delia in their shared living room. Yet,  _ Delia _ was quite adventurous and really rather persuasive so the rules were implemented purely because of her. 

“Of course,” Delia smirked. She then turned to bat Valerie’s head, “Now, let’s compose that text that solidifies the plans for your date, yes?”

“Next Spring?”

“Valerie.”

Val heaved a dramatic sigh and sat up, pulling her phone from her pocket. She still hadn’t so much as glanced at the message from Magda. Needn’t bother. Her lip was caught between her teeth, brow furrowed, as she stared lamely at the previous conversation with Lucille. 

Delia peered down at the several lame attempts at a conversation starter, commenting on each allegedly incorrect attempt. 

“Just ask her to The Black Sail!”

“Delia, I’m not taking her to a gay bar on a first date - least of all one were I’ve shagged half the bar staff.”

“Definitely more than half but I understand,” Delia nodded. 

The message, however, was soon forgotten when Patsy let out the most repulsed, “For the  _ love of God _ !” immediately as the front door bell tingled with the arrival of a new customer.

“I hope that was you practicing your prayers, Ms Mount,” Sister Winifred grinned, an empty sort of forced smile. Her hands rested on her cross. 

“Isn’t it always?” Patsy retorted with an earnest amount of sarcasm before she slid the window shut and retreated back into the kitchen. 

Delia jumped down from the counter, not bothering to address the Sister, and disappeared into the kitchen. 

Sister Winifred, well, she looked mildly uncomfortable with that. And she certainly didn’t try to hide it. 

Val seethed.

“What can we do for you today, Sister?” Trixie asked over her magazine.

Usually always one for the highest quality of customer service, Trixie decidedly never did bother with entertaining Sister Winifred in any sort of polite way. She would have been barred after last Christmas if it wasn’t for Sister Monica Joan and Sister Julienne. 

See, Val recalled it well, Sister Winifred was one of those  _ new _ nuns, the kind who believed in some sort of traditional superiority - that everything was better in some time before. She’d always been passably nice to them all, but at Christmas, boy oh boy, did that all change. 

Delia had chosen to stay with Patsy, moreover them, in Hampstead instead of going back to Wales and, well didn’t Mrs Busby turn up on the twenty-third of December in all sorts of a rage. The nuns had turned up as Mrs Busby left in a tantrum, denouncing Patsy’s hedonistic corruption of her daughter, along with Val and Trixie’s complacency in the whole thing.

(She’d near had a heart attack when Patsy blurted out that Valerie was gay too) 

Julienne had gone to calm her, Monica Joan to quote Sappho presumably, leaving Winifred standing in the shop glaring hell-fire at Patsy and Delia’s joined hands. 

And then she’d started. Sinners, eternal damnation etcetera, etcetera. Val figured she nearly blew an aneurysm with the way she was going on. 

‘Course in the reprieve she took to have a breath, Trixie had decided it was  _ her _ turn and defended  _ her family _ for a rant nearly twice as long. Would have gone on for quite a bit longer if Julienne and Monica Joan hadn’t returned. 

(Mrs Busby was on the train back to Tenby and would give Delia a ring when she got home.)

There’d been stern stares and woeful words handed out from Sister Julienne to the younger nun, but Val could tell it didn’t get through to her. Julienne and Monica Joan were called to their vocation for a love of helping others, sharing  _ love _ . Winifred chose the vocation because she wanted to grasp at ideologies long since retired. Still, she apologised through her teeth and a silent agreement had been made that she was not to return to the bakery unless absolutely necessary. 

“Sister Julienne sends her regards because she’s attending a council meeting and Sisters Evangelina and Monica Joan are caught up in other commitments,” Sister Winifred’s smile did not shift, remaining as pained as it had. “I’m here for the bread order. And the lemon meringue of course.”

“Val will get them for you now,” Trixie returned to her magazine.

“Actually, Trixie, usually Phyllis hands them over.”

“She’s not here this afternoon - dentist appointment,” Trixie sounded bored.

“Would you...Be so kind?” Winifred tilted her head lightly.

Val wanted to punch her teeth in.

Trixie sighed, languidly placing her magazine down and standing, “What difference does it make if Val hands it over Phyllis and I? You seem to forget who actually makes the bread and cake; if you were going to  _ catch lesbianism _ , you would get it from that, not the box it comes in when Val hands it over.”

Sister Winifred straightened her spine, “The lemon meringue is for Sister Monica Joan, I only ever eat the bread prepared by Phyllis.”

Trixie didn’t even dignify that with an eye roll as she retrieved the boxes. 

“Should tell her to make you an exclusive one, add some arsenic,” Val grumbled, arms crossed over her chest.

“Now, Val, you know that it’s your fear that makes you angry, right?,” Sister Winifred had decided to be condescending instead of outright homophobic. “Love of God will get rid of that fear.”

“I think it’s the love of a good woman Valerie needs,” Trixie pushed the boxes into Sister Winifred’s hands. “I’ll settle the cheque with Sister Julienne on Monday as usual. Goodbye, Sister.”

Sister Winifred set her jaw, “Thank you, Ms Franklin.”

She turned to leave.

Before she could, however, Trixie called out, “By the way, Patsy made the sourdough - she’s branching out into savouries.”

The door slammed shut. 

Val couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her lips, Trixie joining in as she returned to her seat. 

The nun held no threat, so Valerie often just found it entertaining to wind her up, as did Trixie and Phyllis when she was present. Delia and Patsy would just avoid being around her. 

It was a shame, to be honest. Although Valerie existed as a solid atheist, had been her whole life, Julienne, Monica Joan and even the brusque Evangelina were some of the nicest people she’d ever met. She hadn’t been lying when she said their call was to love others. Winifred, and her values, well, she brought a stain on the whole nun thing. Damn near put Val off going to the library.

(Until about a month ago when Julienne had, in her gracefully omniscient way, emailed over Winifred’s off days.)

Speaking of, she’d need to swing back and return that book.

Valerie returned to her phone, clicking back onto Lucille. An idea struck her. 

**Valerie (14:44):** How do you feel about books?

**Lucille (14:53):** It depends; are they organised alphabetically or by dewey decimal system?

**Valerie (14:54):** How about according to if a nun thinks they would have hung out together had they lived in the same time period?

**Lucille (14:54):** Okay. I’m interested.

  
  


Val grinned.

Well.

Turns out sometimes, a second shot does hit.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heh heh


	7. chapter seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valerie can’t sleep the night before her big date so reminisces about the absolute shambles that was delia and patsy getting together. Maybe she wants that. But less shambles.

Val turned over in her bed, expelling an exasperated sigh as she punched the pillow into another position. Not comfier.  _ For god's sake _ . Turning on her back, she blinked up at the ceiling. 

Usually so exhausted, so tired down to her bleedin’ marrow, she couldn’t find sleep. It evaded her. Cruelly. 

Nerves, she supposed were the culprit; her date with Lucille was to be tomorrow night. A wild Saturday night in the library after hours. 

(Lord praise Sister Julienne)

The question as to why Lucille affected her so much had yet to be answered. She’d seen many a pretty girl in her lifetime, gone to bed with a fair few, Magda had even been a magazine model for a brief moment during sixth form. But Lucille was different. Cliché maybe but...She simply  _ was _ . There was a hue to her - a glow emanated from her skin as to say ‘here she is, here’s the one for you’. 

Val snorted at the idea of soulmates but Trixie’s trashy reads  _ did  _ hold a certain charm. 

And it wasn’t simply that. No. Val had been honest when she’d declared to Trixie that Lucille held a stare that pierced right through her. All of Val’s truths were right on display, every fragment and crack and, well, everything she’d ever hidden. It was as though Lucille looked at her and everything was bare. No hiding, no deceit. 

It was entirely impossible, of course; there was absolutely no way on earth that Lucille could know everything about her after the round about hour that they’d spoken. But Valerie  _ felt _ it. She felt seen, heard, damnit even  _ wanted _ . 

Wanted. 

Interesting concept. 

(Valerie slept every night with her hands crossed over her chest in an ‘X’, legs tucked under her, in an attempt to take up less space. All she remembered from her time B.T. --  _ before Trixie _ \-- was being told she was always in the way).

A huff escaped her and she turned on her side once more, throwing a hard stare to her bedroom door and the inhabitants of the other side. 

Pats and Deels. 

God how she envied them in the dead of the night. Sure, it hadn’t been smooth sailing for ‘em but they just clicked. Instantly. There was no going back. Valerie saw Patsy fall along with those pain au raisins and, really, that was all she wanted. 

(She’d never been the best baker though).

-

_ THE GREATEST LOVE STORY EVER TOLD (AKA HOW DELIA ASKED PATSY TO ASK HER OUT) _

-almost fourteen months ago as Delia would say-

“You’ve a natural talent for it, lass, once that hand of yours is back to its full potential I wager you’ll be a most sought after patissier.”

Patsy looked up, overgrown bangs infringing the action slightly, and smiled bashfully at the older woman. After working all morning with pastry dough, she’d retreated her tired hand back to the strap across her chest and held a tray of freshly prepared pain au raisins in her free hand.

“Let me get those in the oven for you,” Phyllis took the tray, beaming, and sauntered over to the tall baking oven. “In sixteen minutes, our morning’s work will be ready to share with those two.”

“Thank you, Phyllis,” She mumbled between chapped lips. 

Outside in what was to be the lobby, Trixie turned to Valerie, “I told you Phyllis would be perfect for her. She’s stern but encouraging, I think that’s what Pats needs.”

Val nodded, pushing the roller through the paint tray a few times, “Pats doesn’t like people being soft with her, ‘s a good match.”

“As are you two,” Trixie tacked on. She watched, admirably, as Val dragged the roller brushed over the wall, leaving a soft blue in its wake. “I know I’ve said this before but I’m awfully glad you two met.”

“Why? Because otherwise you’d need to outsource a sweet baker like we’ve had to for a delivery driver?” Val sneered as she painted. 

Trixie, who was glossing the window sills, bit back, “ _ No _ . Because you have someone to talk to about things that  _ I  _ don’t understand.  _ And _ I get to steal her designer accessories.”

“You know she lets you take them because she doesn't want her dad’s charity, right?”

Trixie waved that off, “And she’s a fan of a grasshopper cocktail just as much as I am - I’d say she’s my new best friend.”

“Oi, you have a best friend, let me keep this one.”

“Cynthia’s moved to  _ Birmingham _ , at least let me have Patsy on the weekends.”

“Two women fighting over me? Quite a dream come true,” Patsy smirked from the hole in the wall - the window was to be fitting in a few days - but the bright flush to her cheeks betrayed her suave intonation. 

Patsy arrived in Valerie’s a staunch follower of the archaic ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ way. Where Val had gotten drunk and talked about her sweetheart back in Britain with their newborn unashamedly and brazen, Patsy had stumbled around some Catholic school dalliances with a quivering glass of rum in her fingers. It had been like pulling teeth. Yet, as their friendship grew stronger—

(Val would leave the boys and Jenny Lee up to whatever and trek a mile uphill to the Doctor’s tent) 

—Patsy relaxed more, revealed more. Never too much, her history was cloaked in some macabre mystery that Val deemed worthy of a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ label. That’s the thing, see, they knew just enough of their pasts, enough to understand their proclivities, yet it was not what they sought from each other. Wasn’t necessary. They just got each other, encouraged each other. There was a liberation in finding someone who completely and irrevocably understood you. Val had it with Trix, of course, but it was the first time for Patsy. 

So, Val helped Pats feel  _ safe.  _ Something she’d never been allowed to feel before. 

When Val woke up two weeks after the IUD, Patsy’s head was nudging her hip as she lay on the tiny camp bed with her - hand bundled in untouchable metal, awkwardly resting at her shins. She figured she loved her a little bit then. 

After their two week stint in medical, Val had desperately kissed her in the airplane bathroom, grasped at the matching khakis to find salvation. Patsy had pushed her away in an action that had been gentle, kind. They’d become best friends over lovers and that was how it was supposed to be.

Trixie accepted Pats with open arms and soon became the second person Patsy ever came out too. Val enjoyed watching them grow closer, enjoyed even more so how Pats didn’t rush to leave, content to pitch up in their sofa bed until the time came to go back to Hong Kong. 

(The time never did come but that’s for a later date). 

After the Macabre Month - as Trixie had dubbed it - and the two veterans began their journey back to normalcy, Trixie and Valerie dragged Patsy to The Black Sail -- her first gay bar -- and watched as Pats, flummoxed, became the hottest commodity at the bar. 

Despite keeping her hand strapped up to her chest for several months, the whole nightmare thing, and the atrocious help for veterans that the Conservative government had to offer, Patsy was finally, at least to Val it seemed, comfortable in herself. 

Still, it was quite adorable to watch her blush whenever she tried anything remotely flirtatious. 

“Pats, sweetie, if I was that way inclined I would have snatched you up in an instant,” Trixie replied brightly. 

“It breaks my heart every day that you’re not, Trix,” Patsy beamed back, eyebrows raised quite. 

It appeared she’d procured a ginger biscuit from Phyllis’ reserves and nibbled away as she observed Trix and Val’s painting, “Aren’t the interview candidates supposed to be arriving soon?”

“The  _ one _ interview candidate,” Val grumbled from the stepladder. 

Trixie frowned, glancing at her watch, “It’s only quarter past, shouldn’t be here for another thirty minutes or so.”

“Quarter past? Trixie, no, it’s twenty to.”

Patsy pointed a long finger towards the front windows. On top of the hill, where the library sat, was the adjoining clock tower which read as one forty. 

“Oh rats!” Trixie dropped the paintbrush back in the pot, hastily tugging at her overalls. “I must have got water in it again.”

“Now, Trixie, I seem to remember quite a big discussion when you were younger about how all jewellery  _ and  _ watches should be removed before doing the washing up,” Phyllis had come to stand next to Patsy, arms crossed over her chest. She had  _ that face _ \- Val had seen it a lot growing up, the ‘I’m disappointed but not surprised’ face. 

Trixie rolled her eyes, “I don’t remember every lesson you ever taught us, Phyllis, and besides that was because of Valerie and that godforsaken watch.”

“Still ticking now though,” Valerie jibed.

(The only thing Val had of any importance when she’d been dropped in the children’s home was her grandmother’s watch - small face, leather strap, hardly expensive. She’d refused to take it off for two years until her and Trix got adopted and Phyllis explained that taking it off would keep it safe.)

“Do I have paint on my face?” Trixie asked, expression deadly serious. 

Val leaned down, “I mean considering  _ I’m _ the one doing the walls and you’ve done  _ one _ , I’d like to repeat  _ one _ , window ledge, you’re fine.”

“Valerie.”

“Honestly, you’re good.”

Trixie continued to flap about with her hair. 

_ Professionalism starts with appearance _ , that’s what she always said. She disappeared upstairs to find some sort of blazer situation - probably to come across as important or something. Val was just glad she had a job in which she could get away with jeans and a t-shirt most days.

Patsy, still steadily making her way through that one biscuit, curiously enquired, “Do we know much about this candidate?”

“Girl,” Valerie offered, unhelpfully, far too immersed in painting the walls.

“I seem to recall her Curriculum Vitae mentioning that she’s a PhD student at King’s - can’t quite recall what subject,” Phyllis informed, squinting her eyes in thought. “Looking for a bit of extra income one would assume.”

“Seems awfully far to travel for a side job and on top of a PhD as well? Are we certain whoever she is didn’t make a mistake?” Patsy mused, frowning. 

Phyllis simply shrugged, “She seemed enthusiastic on the telephone according to Trixie. Now, enough of that, while we’re waiting for our pain au raisins to finish, I can walk you through the best way to get a perfect meringue.”

Patsy smiled and the two retreated back to work. 

Val hummed along to the radio, contendly painting the wall. Made her feel useful, it did. Her and Trixie had talked for ages as kids starting up their own little café or bakery only where Trixie had put in the business work, Val had disappeared off to war. After getting absolutely rotten with Pats and Trix once they’d been discharged, they ended up using some of Trixie’s untouched inheritance to buy the empty shop underneath their apartment. 

She’d never figured one day she’d wake up with a hangover and a bakery but it certainly got the ball-rolling on trying to suss out a post military career. 

That night had been a few months ago, Trix sorted out sourcing everything, permits etcetera. Val was in charge of actually turning the dilapidated former laundrette into a welcoming space. This meant collaborating with Patsy (who oddly knew a lot about interior renovations) on how best to knock down walls, fit new pipes, and, of course, figuring out how to rig up all the equipment Trixie ordered. Pats helped where she could but was mostly carted upstairs to learn the basics of baking with Phyllis. 

Val didn’t mind much, just her and a mallet and a plaster wall gave her an insurmountable surge of joy. 

She didn’t think too hard about why that was. 

Anyway, now the bulk of the refurb was done, Val immersed herself in the remaining decorative tasks, idly sweating about all of the customer service and other stuff she’d have to start doing once they opened. 

“Looks busy in here.”

Valerie let out a startled squeak at the sudden voice, damn near losing her footing on the step ladder. The roller dropped to the floor. She gripped onto the metal frame as she turned sharply.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Delia, I’m here for an interview, are you Trixie?”

The woman was short, strong, and held a thick accent that Valerie had to catch her focus a little longer to process what was being said. Her eyes were unnervingly curious, but soft, and the little wave she gave showed a medical bracelet rattling around her wrist.

“Oh,” Valerie swallowed thickly, before plastering a grin on her face. “Hi, no. I’m Val, uh, I also own the place but I’m the brawn, Trix is the brains.” Delia returned a smile at that. “If you just go up those stairs there, excuse the clutter by the way, Trixie’ll be with you.”

“Thank you, Val.”

Delia ducked her head, inching past and disappearing up the steep stairs to the flat. 

Val picked up her roller brush once more. 

Hardly ten minutes had passed when Trixie bounded down the stairs, Delia hot on her heels, and presented herself loudly to the room. 

“Attention all! This is Delia, she’s our new delivery driver - she’ll be here in the mornings to run our goods to the local café’s and to any customers should they require deliveries,” Trixie pronounced, an arm flung around Delia’s shoulders.

Val gave a nod of her head, entirely caught up in the painting once more.

“Really, Trix, I don’t see why you have to yell so loudly when there’s only the three of us--”

_ CLANG _ . 

Patsy had been leaving the kitchen, balancing a steaming tray of pain au raisins on her good hand to share with the group. She’d stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Delia. The tray hit the floor. Pastries flying every which way. Patsy remained still.

Val, pausing in her decoration, looked down at the whole thing.

She’d never seen Patsy like that before. 

(And she’d seen Patsy in an all manner of ways).

“I told you I could have carried them, Patsy, please,” Phyllis fussed, swatting her. 

This seemed to jar Patsy from wherever she’d disappeared to,and a flabbergasted ‘oh’ left her lips. 

“Here, let me help,” Delia, in an instant, was kneeling at Patsy’s side, picking up the pastries. 

Patsy slowly kneeled down next to her, “Um, thank you.”

“Well, I rather think you’ve made  _ quite _ the impression, Patsy,” Trixie teased. Then she addressed Delia, “Patsy here is still new to the area and baking itself but she’s taken it upon herself to become our resident baker and I dare she’ll be a good one once she’s signed off of Phyllis’ tutelage. Phyllis, I mentioned before, is the very woman who taught Val and me to bake - well, mostly me, Val preferred the messiness of cooking over the precision of baking--”

“And I’m a damn good cook,” Valerie waved the roller at her.

“--Anyway, she’s teaching Pats while we’re still in our infancy but once Patsy’s good to go on her own, Phyllis will be our part time bread maker between her travelling adventures.”

“I’m still pissed about that Phyllis!” Val called. 

“It was ten years ago!”

“You missed my birthday!” 

“It was your adoption anniversary, not your birthday. And it was Trixie’s too.”

“She’s  _ older _ , it didn’t matter so much.”

Phyllis ignored her. She helped Delia stand back up, shook her hand, and gave her a welcoming smile, “Nice to have you on the team Miss…?”

“Oh, Busby, but please just call me Delia. It’s really lovely to meet you all.”

Delia’s attention seemed to immediately fall back to Patsy. The woman in question had returned to standing, fidgeting with the fallen pastries she’d placed on the counter. 

“It must be difficult,” Delia started, softly, gently, “Learning to bake with just one hand, you must be dedicated.”

Patsy gave a small smile, a slight nod, “Um, it’s temporary, I…” She flexed the fingers of her left hand. “It’s physiotherapy, sort of. This is only for when it’s, um, tired, you know?”

“I do, quite a bit actually,” Delia smiled warmly. She let out a long breath, “I look forward to working with you Patsy.”

“Yes, you too.”

Val found Trixie’s eyes across the room, both had their eyebrows raised in that knowing sort of way. Phyllis simply observed in peace. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


Over the final few weeks of preparation before the Grand Opening, Delia popped by several times, entirely welcome, to help out where she could in getting everything ready. It turned out she was  _ extremely _ well versed in calligraphy and sat for three hours one afternoon drawing the window signage. 

(There had been a quick run to Boots for some aloe vera that evening.)

She slotted in very well to the team as Trixie had predicted from the moment she met her. Apparently. Val didn’t doubt it, it was one of her friend’s many gifts, the ability to understand just about anyone. 

Anyways, Delia was commuting on that god-awful train from London so much that she ended up crashing in their flat a few nights a week. Her PhD was on hold for the Summer and Delia simply  _ loathed  _ London - that’s why she looked further afield for something to get her out of the city when she wasn’t in labs. 

(“I love it in theory, it’s so much busier than rural Tenby and I do thrive in the energy of it all,” She explained to them over Patsy’s first carrot cake - not the  _ best _ but surely not that of a beginner. “But I miss rolling hills and fields and it’s nice to be able to escape somewhere that doesn’t seem like the cause of all global warming.”

Her PhD was in environmental research, go figure.)

Patsy, although technically residing in the living room, still spent her nights in Val’s bed, unable to sleep alone. On occasion, they’d migrate to Trixie’s room but she’d put her foot down about that several months ago after Patsy had smacked her in the face in her sleep. 

The black eye was brilliantly awful. 

So that left Delia in what was Patsy’s bed. Only without Patsy in it. Which, okay, would have been perfectly fine, only the two had been dancing around this fizzling tension for the better half of a month and Trixie and Valerie were at their wits end.

The pain au raisins were only the start you see. From then on it was like, well, it was like they were very good friends. Delia would find her way into the kitchen, sitting on the table, while Patsy was practicing how to temper chocolate to get that glossy finish. Val, Trix, and Phyllis would share glances at the raucous laughter emanating from the kitchen regarding one of the many in-jokes the duo already had.

Val wasn’t jealous at the development, in fact, she was overjoyed. There was a pool, between the three of them, on how long it would be before Pats and Deels truly became  _ Pats and Deels _ . Val had by the end of June. It was fast approaching the end of May. There was such a lightness to Patsy when Delia was around, it was truly a remarkable occurrence, and she only wanted them to recognise what was happening between them sooner. 

Patsy would prepare scones of all kinds for Delia’s arrival after she’d divulged that afternoon tea was a fond memory she had with her father and mother. And Delia would find obscure books and knick knacks that simply reminded her of something that Patsy had said or referenced. Seriously, they had a growing collection of cursed looking figures because Patsy had told Deels she loved the weird and macabre looking things. 

(Valerie had an ongoing feud with a two-inch tall ceramic clown that held a balloon of teeth because it’s beady little eyes would follow her around their flat’s kitchen.)

There was one time, even, that Valerie had waltzed into the bakery kitchen minding her own bloody business and Delia was giving Patsy’s hand a thorough massage.

“You could, you know, sleep in your own bed,” Valerie suggested one night as she tugged on her pjs. 

Patsy was already curled in the bed, sipping a tea with her glasses on and a Stephen King in her hands. 

She looked up from the novel, “But Delia’s sleeping in it.”

Val flopped down next to her, “Yeah. Exactly.”

A frown tugged Patsy’s lips down as she brought the mug to Valerie’s lips. It was their routine. 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Val raised her brow, “You sleep with me ‘cause you don’t want to sleep alone. So go sleep with Delia.”

Patsy stammered at that, “Wh-But-I couldn’t possibly.”

“Pats. You’re mates, yes?”

She flushed, “Valerie…it’s…”

Val took the mug from Patsy and set it down on the side table, “You fancy her.”

“I—“

“Not a question, Mount.”

Patsy licked her lips before taking the bottom between her teeth, “I...have an attraction to Delia, yes.”

“Then go out there and cuddle  _ her! _ I bet that’s all she wants too!”

“It’s not that simple,” Patsy retorted, sharp. 

“It really is, chick. Let yourself be vulnerable with someone, it’ll be good for you.”

Patsy huffed, “I’m not discussing this further. Goodnight.”

The lamp snapped off. Patsy turned on her side, back to Valerie. 

Val just gaped. 

  
  


-

  
  


After that, Val figured it was best to give Patsy her space. It’s how she dealt with things, see. You want to be close enough in case of emergency but far enough that she could breakdown without giving way to embarrassment. Her stiff upper lip rivalled Val’s and she’d let her wisdom tooth give her jip for three months before getting it sorted. Pats didn’t like fuss. So Val left her to her process and distracted herself with the Grand Opening. 

Ripples had formed in the town chatter, it had been years since any store front had inhabited the building and the citizens were excited for what they could offer. 

Val never thought she’d be happy in a town like that but it quickly became her favourite place. 

They were balls of nerves ricocheting around the place in the penultimate week. Trixie hardly slept and always seemed to have an aperol spritz in her hand. Val was constantly repairing something. Phyllis and Patsy were finalising their opening day selection of goods. Delia was flitting between everyone, making sure they were hydrated - with  _ water, _ Trixie - and looking after themselves. All came to ahead on a Thursday afternoon after caring just one too many times.

Seemed in their budding companionship, Delia’s copy of How To Deal With Patsy: Stressed Edition never arrived in the mail. 

She’d done her rounds, Delia, and was circling back to make sure Pats wasn’t overworking her hand with that dough and Patsy snapped. 

Val had winced at the exchange, knowing full well what it was like to be on the receiving end of Patsy’s frigidity. 

What surprised her though, was that Delia didn’t take it. She didn’t let her close up and grow dark. Phyllis stepped back as Delia gave as good as she could, allowing them privacy. 

(Val and Trix had no such courtesy and eavesdropped for the whole thing.)

“You’re not as dark and mysterious as you  _ think _ , Patience,” Delia had growled rather ferociously, hands firm on her hips and a hard stare cast at Patsy. “You’ve been off with me all week and I know why.”

“It’s the opening, it’s stress—” Patsy tried lamely. 

“Just ask me out, Pats,” Delia cut her off. 

There was a moment of pause. Valerie and Trixie had audibly gasped but it didn’t appear to penetrate what was going on with the other two. 

“I’m sorry?” Patsy asked incredulously. 

“You’re being snipey because you want to ask me out but you’re afraid of doing it and being rejected,” The frankness of the entire expression would have been disarming from anyone else but such was Delia’s bluntness. “But if you just looked at me and ignored whatever’s going on in that beautifully  _ thick  _ skull of yours you’d know that would be impossible.”

Another long moment of silence. 

“Delia, I—”

“Not now, Pats, focus on the baking, but  _ soon _ , okay?” Delia’s tone was light, yet tired. 

“Certainly.”

Delia spent the remainder of the afternoon helping Valerie affix curtain hooks to drapes, avoiding the kitchen for the most part but sending longing gazes when Patsy’s laugh or chatter would find her ears. 

Val could supply nothing but a hot chocolate an awkwardly comforting smile. 

  
  


-

  
  


The Grand Opening solidified the bakery as a new staple for the community. It felt as though  _ hundreds _ flocked, devouring every morsel of cake, bread, and pastry prepared. Orders were placed for the following day or birthday parties well in the future. 

Shelagh Turner, secretary to the mayor and general shining symbol of the community, brought her brethren of diverse children and took Trixie aside for a chat about business, baking, and everything else. Fleeting glances to Val begged for help but Val was far too preoccupied to assist. 

The nuns from the library made themselves known and Val kept them entertained for longer than she thought it would have been possible for her to keep the company of religious folk.

Trixie, Val, and Delia worked diligently to make everyone feel welcome, get feedback, pile them with beverages that paired well with the pastries. Phyllis and Patsy left the kitchen to meet and greet everyone too - were Phyllis nodded in thanks at the compliments steamrolling them, Patsy would blink entirely uncertain of how to respond. 

Val kept an eye all day, as did Delia of course, but around two she saw the mouth twitching, finger flexing ticks that gave way to a certain need. Just so happened Val fancied a cigarette at that time too. 

The entry at the back of the bakery wasn’t exactly dingy, she’d got the power house on it a few days ago, but it was a place for bins. Hardly glamorous.

She dropped down on the step by the door and groaned, “I've not spoken to this many people since Germany and all us trainees were shoved in a hall together.”

Patsy’s hum of agreement radiated absolutely no sentiment of acknowledgement and appeared to be a natural response. But she was elsewhere, leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, looking at a pigeon perched on the fence. 

The bird fluttered and flew away. 

“Pats? You okay?” Val asked, lighting her own cigarette. Some part of her was still skittish about doing it when Phyllis was in the vicinity. 

“The other week,” Patsy started, still sounding far. “In your bedroom, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s alright, I know you, I get it,” Valerie gave her a smile. 

Patsy nipped her lip and then shook her head forcefully, “You shouldn’t take it though. It’s not—I shouldn’t do it.”

Val sighed, sitting up a little straighter, “Is this about what Delia said?”

“It’s not right,” Patsy continued. She took a long drag, caught up in her own thoughts and hardly looked at Valerie. “Any moment, any instance of fear or-or stress, I completely shut down. It feeds more fear and I can’t-can’t keep going like this. You, Trixie, Phyllis, you’re...You're the only family I have and I constantly run the risk of jeopardising it by being an absolute arse to you at the slightest inconvenience.”

“Patsy, you—“

But there was no halting her, “I know why I do it, it’s both a blessing and a curse to be so self-award but I...It’s as though I’m...My stress response is fear, innately that’s what my circumstances have led to, and that fear is of something happening, anything, that would hurt me or the people I care about. But this event, whatever it is, only happens to me so if I push my people away then they can’t get hurt. Only I get hurt, alone, which is better than them. I can’t lose them. I can’t lose you. It all happens so unconsciously that it took what Delia said to make me recognise this cognition and...I don’t know.”

Val smoked silently, listening, observing Patsy’s stillness. It’s as though self-actualising had quelled her somewhat. It was also the most she’d ever heard her speak all at once. 

“You can’t protect people by pushing them away,” Valerie offered. 

Patsy swallowed thickly, stubbing her cigarette out on the bin and tossing it in, “Do you know if that was true, I would have happily returned to Hong Kong.”

She did not offer more, yet moved to sit next to Val on the step. 

“Well,” Val said. “You can work on that now.”

Patsy nodded. Steadily, she unclipped her hand from where it rested against her chest and set it down on Val’s knee, giving it a squeeze. 

“What is that you’re afraid of happening?” Val dares to ask, fearing the answer and her own fault - that stupid letter, that stupid——

“When I’m asleep I feel the ground move and fear an earthquake,” Patsy answered plainly. “My father's work took us all over Eastern Asia. I was twelve when the tsunami hit Sumatra - we were in Indonesia at the time, safe but the aftershocks were…” She shook her head. “Then I fear a car accident, train crash, another bomb I-...Or being taken. Sometimes, I fear a stranger, group of strangers maybe, could simply charge in and take us somewhere truly cruel.”

Patsy didn’t cry. Never did. Val squeezes her shoulder and put all that in a little box somewhere to be stored until absolutely necessary. 

“Valerie?”

“Yeah, chick?”

Patsy turned to face her properly then, “Thank you.”

The phrase ‘don’t mention it’ was laced with two meanings that day. 

“There you two are, dawdling away, we’ve customers with questions and Trixie and I can’t answer them all!” Phyllis appeared behind them, ranting, ranging as per. She grabbed them both their sleeves and hoisted them up with unassuming strength. “That better not be a cigarette, Valerie, what have I told you and  _ Patsy _ you’re a doctor! Shame on you!”

  
  


-

  
  


Patsy continued to sweat out her nights in Valerie’s bed in the following weeks; the realisation her own psyche had wreaked tragic havoc on her dreams, however, and Valerie was woken up to shouts of Mandarin and a hard  _ thwack _ to her chest. 

One of the first things Val learned about Pats? Let her have the nightmare. No matter how awful it was, if she didn’t finish it, she wouldn’t speak. 

Winded, Val staggered out into the living room, craving a cigarette and water from the kitchen. She was half out the balcony with her lighter flicked on when Delia spoke:

“I’ve never heard her before. The nightmares. I know she has them; I must just sleep through usually.”

Val nodded, “Trix is the talker - during night terrors. I just stay very still and stop breathing, ‘pparently. Pats is the mover. I don’t know if you’ve noticed she twitches a lot? When she’s uncomfortable or stressed or...afraid. It’s unrestrained when she’s asleep.” Val rubbed the throbbing ache at her chest. “If she’s talking on top of it, it’s a bad time.”

“And if she’s shouting?”

Valerie threw her a sad look. 

Delia nodded, “Will she be okay?”

“It’s all I hope for.”

  
  


-

  
  


Val woke up to a cold bed that next morning. The empty half was damp with cooled sweat and the pillows had wound up on the floor. 

She sat up with a start. Patsy would  _ never _ leave anywhere a mess; even Val’s bed (with her sleeping in it) would be made. Something must have happened, she could have ran out in a delirium, got hit by a car, kidnapped, murder.  _ Anything _ . 

And then Val craned her neck, ears picking up some rattlings from downstairs. She let out the breath she’d been holding. 

Patsy had just started work early. 

Bloody hell. 

  
  


-

  
  


Valerie padded downstairs not too long later, yawning loudly with Delia in tow sharing the sentiment. It seemed Trixie had decided to join Patsy early, evidently excited about the new day. 

However, when they arrived downstairs, Trixie was nowhere to be seen. Or Patsy. 

But she’d just heard——

A cake sat on the front counter. 

Single tier. Coated in a smooth yellow marzipan. Rosettes bordering it to the display stand. Written on it, in thin red icing were the words: 

_ Deels  _

_ Date me? _

_ Pats x _

“I’m…” Valerie couldn’t find the words. Her emotionally stunted, frequently existential, and all around awkward best friend has  _ asked a girl out _ with a  _ bloody cake _ . She didn’t know where to look, what to think, I mean, she figured Pats was going to do the asking sooner rather than later but she’d expected bashful stumblings in a very private situation not  _ on a bloody cake _ . 

A cake. 

Valerie shook her head in pure disbelief. 

Delia, on the other hand, had kept her face very calm as she appraised the cake. An eyebrow raise, and then she stepped around the counter to the kitchen window, immediately spotting a half-hidden Patsy in the pantry. 

“Get over here, you fool!”

Patsy bowed her head, making quick work over to the window, “Delia, I have a lot of...problems that are going to take a long while to work through and I—”

She didn’t get to finish, for Delia had grabbed her and kissed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had nothing to do in work while all my adobe software updated so this just carried on going. am honestly havin so much fun. thank u for ur engagement it means a lot ily x


	8. chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> is the date my dudes

**Sunday, 00:32.**

  
  
  


“Valerie,  _ surely _ , it can’t have been that bad,” Trixie was sitting next to her on the sofa, nursing a Horlicks, and holding a look of confusion entirely about her face. 

Val had not moved from her spot since getting home. The sweat from running through the streets had cooled her down. She felt, slightly, like shivering. Her face was covered by her hands and she absolutely  _ did not  _ want to do this right now. 

Patsy said on her other side, laptop balanced precariously on her lap with Delia on FaceTime. 

Yes, it was  _ that bad _ . 

“I can’t...I can’t actually believe I...Oh god,” Valerie whined. “I’m so stupid.”

Patsy couldn’t comment it seemed, so settled for rubbing her shoulder. 

Delia asked, “Tell us what happened, from the beginning, Val.”

  
  


-

  
  
  


**Saturday. 19:57** . 

  
  
  
  


Valerie was a pacer. Her single jittering leg would become two and she’d have to pace around the room to quell whatever energy was bubbling about her soul. 

Tonight, it was nerves. Definite, infinite nerves. 

She was fairly certain she was going to wear a hole in the ground if she carried on. 

The bakery had closed ten minutes prior, Phyllis departing home to pack for her excursion to Jamaica in a few days and Trixie vanishing upstairs to do the end of week math in peace. Pats had finished cleaning already - really the efficiency must have been genetic because the army  _ certainly  _ didn’t teach Val that - and was clicking through articles from  _ The Guardian  _ on the computer. 

She could have very easily followed Trixie upstairs but Val knew she was staying down to ensure Val  _ actually _ went on the date. 

It was kind. 

Twenty minutes until she was to leave to the address plastered to the front of her mind. Lucille’s flat. Ha. 

“Ugh,” Patsy grumbled, face contorted in disgust. 

“What?”

“More cuts from the Tories.”

“Oh,” Val nodded. She was far too nervous to even  _ think _ about god-awful politics right now. She swallowed, “Delia get back alright?”

“Hmm? Oh yes,” Pats spun round to face her, smiling that soft smirk reserved for conversations to or about her girlfriend. “Apparently her housemate has been breaking into her cheese reserves so she’s reading him the riot act now. She’s already quite miffed that she’s to be there in labs all week after someone else’s mistake so I can’t imagine she’ll be the most kind.”

Seemed Val was going to be on delivery duty the next few days. 

Val chuckled, “Her and Trix are cut from the same cloth.”

“Worryingly true.”

Patsy turned back and there was silence once more. Valerie continued pacing. 

She sniffed, “Do you miss her when she’s not here?”

“Something terrible. But in a few months she’ll always be here and I hold out to that every time I say goodbye,” Patsy bit her lip, facing Valerie once more. “It’s harder, I think, for her. I’ve never needed to be with someone quite like I am with her but I manage being apart, war teaches us that. Delia struggles with the physical distance of it all; some nights I’m inclined to steal your car and drive to her when she gets truly upset about it.”

“You could, I wouldn’t mind,” Val replied in earnest. 

Pats waved her hand, “Can’t risk this seizing on the M1.” 

“Hasn’t happened in months,” Valerie offered. She drew her lip between her teeth before continuing. “Or she could move in here, share the sofa bed, until you find a place of your own.”

Her and Trix had discussed on the odd occasion when Pats returned from London looking fatigued or Delia astutely kept her head high and didn’t turn back around when biking back to the rail station. It’d be a squeeze but at this point Val didn’t much enjoy a quiet life. 

Patsy’s eyes lightened at that and she opened her mouth to respond but was distracted, peering to look to the door. 

Val followed her stare. 

Oh. 

Lord. 

_ Jesus.  _

Lucille was at the front door, rocking on the balls of her feet. An, at this point to be expected, excitable Barbara by her side. Her hair, newly dreaded it seemed, was tied up with a floral scarf. A flowing, understated white sundress. Many rings and bracelets. She was...exactly her. 

Valerie couldn’t breathe. 

“I thought you were picking her up?” Patsy's query pulled her back. 

Val frowned, “I was…” 

“Is everything ready?”

“Certainly hope so.”

Padding over to the door, she swung it open, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Hi, Val,” Barbara waved. “Is Trixie around?”

“Barbara informed me she was meeting with your roommate - seemed simpler to join her on her walk here, save you walking to and fro,” Lucille beamed. 

Her gaze raked up Valerie. Slacks, turtleneck and her grandmother’s watch maketh the soft butch. 

“Come in then, come in,” Val pulled the door open more, allowing the two to enter. 

They sent a string of greetings over to Patsy who returned them a knowing smirk. 

“Babs is here to Trix, apparently, did she tell you about this?” Valerie Informed her lazily, absolutely transfixed at how Lucille was looking around the shop. The smile on her face. Hands. Hair. 

Easy tiger. 

“Nope. But no bother, I’ll take you up, Barbara,” Patsy stood, stretching. “We’ll leave these two to it.”

At the wink she gave, Val felt the sudden urge to reply with the ol’ one two right in her nose. 

Seemed Barbara had acted similarly if the way Lucille played with one of the chains around her neck was anything to go by. 

As Pats and Babs disappeared up the stairs to the flat, Lucille stepped closer to Val. 

“So, Ms…?”

“Dyer.”

Lucille nodded, “Tell me, Ms Dyer, about these nun-arranged books?” A playful smile. 

Val offered her arm, gesturing out the door, “You know the Old Nonnatus Library up on the hill?”

“A library?” Lucille placed her hand in the crook of Val’s elbow. 

“Oh I promise it’s more exciting than it sounds, come on, darlin’.”

Val pulled the door shut behind them, locking both the deadbolts before resuming her arm-link with Lucille. 

  
  


-

  
  


Now, to be clear, Valerie was never one to toot her own horn. Not  _ really _ . Maybe in that jokingly cocky sort of way that hid her slew of insecurities, but if you asked her seriously to talk about any of her positive attributes her mind would draw blank. However, her absolute creativity for this whole date? Phenomenal - if she did say so herself. 

Sister Julienne had, in her fantastically benevolent way, closed the main hall of the library early that afternoon to allow Val to come in and set up. She’d mused for ages on the best part of the old building to hold her date, but the main hall and its old Georgian architecture was certainly the most charming place. The building itself was gorgeously well-kept, sophisticated, classic. Original murals and artwork painted on the walls had been restored over time and were positively picturesque. The racks filled with every kind of book - always reorganised throughout the day should Monica Joan leave her nest downstairs with the old philosophers. 

Val chose to set up in one of the corners, where the poetry and plays found their home. She’d acquired a fleece rug, several sheets, and metre long strings of fairy lights and erected a wonderful little hideaway. 

(All the pillow forts her and Trixie would make for their  _ safe space _ as kids really did end up paying off, thank you Doreen.)

She’d consulted Patsy’s liquor cupboard - kept under strict lock and key in Valerie’s wardrobe - for the most expensive bottle of champagne she had.  _ Two thousand pounds, Pats?! What the hell was it doing in a  _ **_cupboard_ ** _?! _ Before, of course, she panicked - uncertain of what Lucille would drink and then piled the bourbons and rums and gins into her little picnic hamper too. Then, she’d spent the day in the flat’s kitchen preparing a variety of tapas and other picnic type food for them to nibble on. Poor Phyllis, Pats, and Trix had been plied with her trials all day and had been forced to give comprehensive feedback. 

Trixie told her she was thinking too much. 

Phyllis told her to simply be herself and relax. 

Patsy told her to add more paprika. 

Sister Julienne had rubbed her shoulder when she’d finished, commenting that Lucille was to be a very lucky woman. She’d even made sure to turn on the fairy lights when she’d locked up for the evening. 

Valerie never considered a nun would be the best wingwoman out there. 

Funny how times change. 

Lucille stepped a beat ahead of her, mouth falling ajar as she took in the little corner. 

“Valerie…” 

Turning around to face her, she was absolutely radiant. Val had to steady herself on the doorframe. 

“Fancy restaurants more your speed, eh?” She asked, surprisingly smoothly. 

Lucille shook her head, “This is...You’re a good one, Valerie Dyer.”

Val rubbed the back of her neck, bashfully, before taking Lucille’s hand, “Just wait til to you try my samosas - truly my best quality.”

-

They’d chatted sparingly as they ate, getting to know the little superficial things, how old they were, favourite tv shows and films, what their families were like. 

Lucille was from the West Indies as good ol’ Pats has suspected and her family owned a moderate mango orchard; she loved Christopher Nolan films and the kind that left your head reeling. She paid no care that Valerie had grown up in kid’s homes, and asked questions about the experience. Not at all intrusive, just curious. It felt like she was asking to understand Val better, not spare sympathy or earn politeness points. 

Val decided about ten minutes in that kissing Lucille would be the most remarkable experience on earth. 

Soon, she uncorked the extremely expensive champagne and Lucille quickly moved to catch the leaking bubbles, claiming if she was going to drink something akin to her monthly pay cheque, it couldn’t go to waste. 

She’d accepted the reasoning with a slack jaw as Lucille’s tongue traced the side of the bottle, entirely innocently, a breath away from her hand. 

They settled then, stomachs full with comprehensively complimented food, and leaned against the bookcases. Lucille told her about her weekend job as a library assistant throughout high school, plucking a Dickinson from the shelf and perusing. 

(Val figured  _ that _ selection was a sign things were going well.)

  
  


“So tell me, why the name?” Lucille peered over to her, setting the book back in its home. She’d grown closer, thigh touching, shoulder brushing. 

Val ducked her head as she fiddled with her own fingers in her lap -  _ must you always be in the way, Val _ ? She cleared her throat, “For the bakery? Um, well, I’m originally from London, see, the East End rather. Trixie was a Chelsea brat and Pats, her family’s English, but she grew up in China, Japan, all over that way. Anyways, Trix and me end up in the same room at a children’s home in Reading - the London ones were full, I think, um, I was six, she was eight.”

Lucille had reached over at this, daring, yet not recognising it in such a way. She was comforting. Her palm was warm on Valerie’s hand. 

“Some point we ended up in another home in Basingstoke before mum found us - that’s what we’d call it, see, Luc, she  _ found _ us. She used to say that she’d been missing us her whole life she just didn’t know it,” Val smiled fondly at the memory. “We moved to Brighton - Phyllis, our aunt ‘course, moved in a while later. Had a happy life growing up there. After sixth form, I went to Coventry to join the army, Trix went to University in Manchester. I went all over the place, Trix moved to Middlesbrough for her MBA then went to Italy for a little while to deal with some things. Eventually, I came home and brought Pats with me - she’d also been everywhere, her medical degree is from  _ Canada _ for cryin’ out loud. After dropping a grain of rice on a U.K. map, we settled here.”

Val ended with a shrug, avoiding the eyes of a mystified Lucille. 

“You dropped a grain of rice to decide where to live?” 

“Between us we figured we’d managed more than half the major cities in England, we wanted somewhere new and a place that was just for us,” Val explained. “Though if Pats had dropped it only slightly harder we probably would have ended up in London.”

Lucille turned Valerie’s hand over, looking down, admiring it almost. Lazy trails were dragged over the palm. 

“So you’re the nomads?” She enquired. 

Val stared at the ministrations, “Mhm. Nomad’s Bakery. Trix suggested Vagabonds at first but Pats said it made us sound a little too racy for Hempstead.”

She urged to move her hand, lace her fingers with Lucille’s, pull her impossibly closer. However, she was restricting herself. Polite first date rules. This was not to be a dine and dash - literally. 

Although—

No. 

Valerie let herself be touched but not return the actions. Rigidly she sat. 

“Do you have a favourite place?”

Val shook her head, “Guess that’s why we’re nomads; never found a place home enough to set down roots.”

“But you’ve settled here?”

“For now. Our long-term goal is to open a few more bakeries, see,” Val shrugged once more. “Maybe we move around a lot with that.”

She finally turned to Lucille, lips quirked in a half smirk. 

Lucille nodded, withdrawing her hand from Val’s. There was a softness right there, to the smile she sent Valerie’s way, eyes hooded. Valerie watched her move, watched her lay down on the little blanket, staring up at the cavernous ceiling of the library. Her hands crossed at her stomach. 

Val inhaled sharply through her nose, expelling it from her lips in such a subtle way as to not disturb Lucille. 

Was this going well?

Maybe. 

Certainly felt like. 

Lord, she was out of touch. 

Valerie wrinkled her nose, played with a loose thread on the blanket. 

“So why nursing then? Midwifery?”

Lucille turned on her side just slightly, so she could observe Val once more. 

“In our house back in Kingston, there was at one time ten of us under the same roof,” Lucille began. “There was more than enough room but it often felt...Let’s not get into that now. My great grandmother was the matriarch who retained her vibrancy right up until her ninetieth birthday and then she turned, very suddenly the next day.”

Val drew her gaze to Lucille properly now. 

“She didn’t wish to move to the hospice so nurses would come every day to help her, guide her. I was moved by their dedication and care that when time came to leave for university, Oxford Brookes, if you were curious, I chose to study nursing - hospice care specifically. I graduated and moved here, ready to care. 

“After several months working so close to death, I realised that I couldn’t carry on that way. It wasn’t good for me. So I asked around the hospital and got offered a place in general nursing. I met Barbara there who was part-time general, part-time obstetrics and maternity and she encouraged me to follow a similar path. 

“It’s the best decision I’ve ever made, helping little babies be born, new life,” Lucille turned back then, to stare hard at the ceiling. “I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”

Valerie softened, the rigidity of her spine quelled by the calming nature of Lucille’s tones, her words. She moved then, to lay down next to her, flush at her side. 

“Except maybe a librarian?”

Lucille laughed loudly, “Perhaps in another time.”

Val grinned. She’d made Lucille laugh numerous times now, the charms were  _ clearly  _ working. Even her twitching foot didn’t seem to distract. 

“Seems you’ve done a fair bit of travelling too, maybe you could be a nomad, like us.”

“Maybe.”

Oh how she could so easily turn her and kiss—

No. 

Etiquette, Val. Kiss at the end of the date if she seems like she wants it. And a simple one at that. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. ‘Cept this moment.”

Lucille turned her head, nose brushing Val’s cheek, “Charmer.”

“Told you so,” Val grinned but the shiver of her voice betrayed the suave statement. 

Her heart thrummed. Breaths panted. She couldn’t swallow, a thickness in her throat. Lucille. Lucille. Lucille. Nothing passed her thoughts but the repetition of the other woman’s name. 

“Valerie,” Lucille’s gentle voice broke through, she’d pulled away slightly but was still close. “Would you like to walk me home?”

Valerie turned to her, aghast, “Are you not having a good time?”

Lucille halted for a moment, and then licked her lips, “I’m having a very good time…” A hand circled Valerie’s wrist. 

“Then why…”

Oh. 

Val cleared her throat, “Are you...Um, are you, you know, certain that you...want to...do...that?”

Lucille tugged on her wrist, brought her impossibly closer, and kissed her. 

-

Frankly, her master plan to do this the respectful way all went out of the window when Lucille kissed her. She’d been ensnared. It was truly quite something. Val reasoned ‘cause Lucille was so calm and collected in her usual self, her kisses were reckless and, for lack of a better word,  _ wild _ as a form of freedom. 

(That little nip she did before going in again,  _ bloody hell _ ). 

They’d hastily packed away the little haven, leaving the box behind a rack for Val to retrieve the next day and then damn near ran back to Lucille’s place. Val would blame the alcohol but Lucille just made her desperate. In the walk, they halted, against alleyway walls to share more kisses.

Lucille had unlocked the door and yanked Valerie inside before she’d even realised that made it. 

She managed a quick, “lovely wallpaper,” before Lucille had pushed her right back against the front door and kissed her hard. 

Stars. Heaven. Hell and brimstone. Val couldn’t comprehend what was happening at all. This wonderful woman had invited her back to her flat, after a delightful date. They were going to have sex. Jesus Christ. 

The stairs were tricky to manoeuvre while keeping their mouths locked on each other, hands trapping each other. Lucille was biting down her neck, Val pressing kisses to the top of her head and scratching hard through the sundress. 

Lucille’s bedroom  _ probably  _ had lovely decor. 

Val wouldn’t know. 

The back of her knees hit the bed and soon the rest of her followed, tugging Lucille down on top of her. The frantic, chaotic, kissing only grew more so as Val lifted her thigh, just a bit, to make hard contact between Lucille’s legs. Her moan was unfairly melodic. She arched into Valerie. 

With a hard tug, Val’s turtleneck was lifted from her, tossed somewhere meaningless and Lucille’s lips trailed down her body and back up. She nipped at her rib cage, at her cleavage, her collarbone. 

Val groaned. 

They’d hardly started and Val had never had a lover like this before. They slot together perfectly, following each other’s directions instinctively. That hue of Lucille’s skin had returned, flickering like Gatsby’s green bleedin’ light.  _ She’s for you. She’s for you. She’s for you.  _

“Fuck, I think I love you.”

Hands in Lucille’s dreads, she pulled her back to her—

Lucille pulled back. 

What?

Val blinked her eyes open. And then, shudderingly, like a bucket of ice water dropped from the sky, did she realise what she’d said. 

Lucille was staring at her, mouth open, eyebrows furrowed in complete and utter confusion. 

“I didn’t—I don’t know why I said that.”

“What the…?” Lucille gaped. She pulled back even further. Off the bed, actually. 

“Luc, it was a slip up, I...I promise, I don’t know why I said it,” Val sat up, kneeling on the bed.

Lucille frowned, “Are you...Are you a virgin or something? Is that what—?”

“No! No, definitely not, Luc, I’ve never said that to any of the other girls I’ve shag-...Had sex with,” Val frantically looked around, searching for some sort of answer in herself for the Freudian slip. “I think it’s because of you—I feel different with you. You’re not like any of the other girls, think my stupid thick head got caught up in itself.”

She tried to laugh but it was no use. 

Lucille only stared at her, “How many other girls have you been with?”

_ That _ was not a good question for the first date. 

“A few, Luc, listen I don’t—“

“How many, Val?”

Two options here: lie or honesty. 

Val wished she didn’t have a moral compass. 

“I stopped counting around twenty five? Twenty six? But that was a while ago,” She answered honestly, fidgeting with her hands. 

Lucille took a step back, “So you’re a sort of  _ player _ ?”

“No, I’m...I’m  _ trying _ to—“

“I’ve heard this all before, Valerie, I think you should leave,” Lucille said sharply. She’d turned away from Val now, hands on the dresser, head bowed. 

Val stood from the bed, slowly, and croaked out: “Luc…”

But Lucille didn’t dignify her with a response. 

Val grabbed her shirt before running out. 

  
  


-

  
  


**Sunday, 00:41**

Delia’s face was the perfect picture of second hand embarrassment. Patsy had joined Val in hiding her face in her hands. And Trixie looked mortifyingly offended. 

“You told her you loved her on the first date,” Delia said all of this slowly. “Before you’d even…Right.”

“Well, she said she  _ thinks _ she loves her which is, you know, a little less concrete,” Patsy offered weakly.

“Valerie if I weren’t related to you I think I’d have to leave and never come back,” Trixie sipped her Horlicks, wide eyes never shrinking. “That’s truly the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yes, when we said be vulnerable we didn’t mean so soon,” Patsy added. 

“I’m gonna have to leave the country, change my name,” Val wailed through her hands. Leaning back, hard, against the sofa, she asked of Patsy, “Does your dad still have that place in China? I think that’s far enough.”

“It’s not  _ that bad _ ,” Delia said, firm. 

The other three stared blankly at her. 

She raised her hands, “Okay maybe a little bad. Quite bad. Very bad.  _ But _ , it might not be the end of the world.”

“Delia, you know when you said that the worst thing that could happen on this date would be that we didn’t have the chemistry?” Valerie said. Delia nodded. “Then you don’t get to talk right now.”

“Val don’t be rude,” Trixie swatted her head. “Poor Delia’s only trying to help in her optimistic ways.”

“Once she’s cooled off, I’m certain she’ll reach out to you,” Delia said with a bright smile. 

“I don’t even know if I want that now,” Val groaned and curled into herself, pushing close to Trixie. 

Patsy rubbed her shoulder once more. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u say yikes?
> 
> *note: modern lucille is so hard to characterise in a way that doesn’t seem superficially correct but intrinsically wrong sooooo this is an outwardly less reserved representation but her core beliefs are quite the same as we’ll soon find out
> 
> Also this chap is verrrrry loosely based off the song of the same name (all my friends are falling in love) by the vaccines.


	9. chapter nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tw: alcoholism, trauma talk, big sad episode

Silence from Lucille permeated the bakery for a few weeks. The new coffee machine arrived so Valerie spent her efforts on mastering that - once she’d plumbed it correctly, of course, after an incident involving Patsy, water, a rogue knife, and Phyllis’ pinky toe had led to a trip to A&E the day before Phyllis’ Jamaican jaunt. Val soon mastered the art of getting a perfect heart on top of every latte and the increased custom the coffee attracted managed to keep her hands busy and mind occupied. 

(Maybe Trixie’s idea  _ had _ worked but she was never going to give her the satisfaction of _telling_ her)

She kept her phone upstairs out of the way, after all, anyone she spoke to was working with her. Should Deels, the nuns, or bloody Mrs Turner need her, they had the others’ numbers. After each shift, she’d check, just to see, but all she had were Facebook notifications (Delia somehow found the time to be a meme lord as well) and a growing number of to-be-ignored texts from Magda. Nothing from Lucille; not that she expected to have anything, but still…

Definitely worth keeping it out of the way. 

She’d retreat to the lounge, cuddle up beside Patsy or Trixie or between both and they’d let her stew for about five minutes in silence before coming up with some great thing to distract her more. 

Valerie appreciated the effort really. 

And of course we mustn’t forget Delia’s subtlety unsubtle move in! Yes, several days after her shambles of a date, Patsy had come to Val and Trix, asking if what she suggested was possible, if Delia could move in. Trixie jokingly lamented on the one bathroom-ness of it all and Val handed her a scribbled tenancy agreement for Delia on the back of a Tesco receipt. 

They’d chosen to take it slow, moving the little things over so as not to crowd the flat too much. Her clothes made their way next to Patsy’s in Val’s walk in, some nik naks, perfumes etc around other parts of the flat. She already had a collection of toiletries in the bathroom anyway. Delia’s books now sat proudly with Val’s and her DVDs with Trixie’s. It seemed she had her own little shoebox, not as battered with Patsy’s, but it was stored safely in the ottoman in Trixie’s room too. 

It was nice, Delia joining them proper. On the times she’d stayed over before, she’d brightened up the mornings and she continued to do so now. 

(She’d brightened up Patsy’s morning  _ very well  _ one morning if the shriek from Trixie at five am when she was leaving for her run was anything to go by.)

Phyllis was missed but the continued stream of photographs to Trixie’s Messenger inbox was welcoming for the most part. 

_ Of course _ , she had to go to Kingston and  _ of course  _ she had to take a picking experience at the Anderson Orchard. She sent a slew of pictures and videos and Val couldn’t help but wonder: “Oh, is that Lucille’s father? An uncle or cousin?” “Is that where she would run around and get lost like she said she always did?”

It was a cruel trick, Val wagered, Winifred must have had a word with her mate Jesus and set this in motion. 

“Seems we’re having a shortage of muscovado sugar.”

Valerie looked up from her cereal, spoon hanging half to her mouth. The sodden rice krispies escaped the spoon back into the bowl. 

“Why?”

Trixie shrugged at the computer, “The supplier just emailed. Shouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.”

“Hm,” Val agreed before returning to her cereal. She swallowed her spoonful before asking: “You reckon Phyllis is going to extend her holiday?”

Trixie chuckled, “She wouldn’t be Phyllis if she didn’t - I’ll certainly be shocked if she calls for you to pick her up from the airport on the third.”

“Takes you back, doesn't it?” Val smiled fondly. 

“Nothing like South Africa,” Trixie reminisced. She spun the chair around, pen caught between her teeth, and threw a thick, northern accent on: “Culture is the most important thing to learn girls.”

Valerie burst out laughing, “Remember doing those essays in year six? Everyone else’s summer holidays were going to Butlins or Tenerife all inclusive—”

“And then,” Trixie was giggling. “We turn up with stories about polio vaccinations and a phantom pregnancy. Poor Mrs Evans seemed like she was about to call childline.” 

“Think that was just for my sunburn - kept peeling til October.”

“You poor English Rose,” Trixie smirked. “I’d like to go back, I think,” She mused, tapping the pen at the pen. “We could close for a week, take the whole team.”

Valerie squinted, “You want to take  _ Patsy  _ to South Africa? Do you want to kill her?”

“There has to be some temperature she can tan at, I refuse to believe she’s that pale in summer,” Trixie remarked. 

“She was a ghost in the Middle East, I guarantee Cape Town won’t bring it out of her,” Valerie took another spoonful of her cereal. “‘s a good idea though - a break. You’ve been working really hard lately.”

Trixie’s smile faltered only slightly. The sort that if Val hadn’t spent the vast majority of her life in the company of the woman, she would have missed it. 

“I’m about to get my year chip this week,” Trixie’s superficial grin didn’t meet her eyes. “I thought it would be easier by now.”

“Trix…”

Val set her spoon down. The legs of her chair scraped the wooden floor as she made her way over to her friend, pulling her into a tight embrace. 

“I love you,” She kisses her head. 

Trixie relaxed in her arms, “I love you too.” Her hand rubbed Val’s arm. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“But you’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” Val gave her a squeeze before sitting back down. 

Trixie nodded, “I've learned my lesson.” The smile returned, unwavering. “Now, I’ve emails to reply to and you’re on getting the boxes ready for the swing dance when you’ve finished your breakfast. Then you’re going to be front all day while I help poor Pats out with the decoration.”

Val huffed, “Sometimes I feel like this town is trapped in the bloody sixties - what’s Mrs Turner raising money for now? Another Scouts trip?”

“No,” Trixie turned back to the computer. “The doctors and nurses in the maternity ward at the hospital are raising money for an extension, they’re almost always overcrowded and are struggling to give the best care when there’s not enough beds.”

“Oh.”

Valerie returned to her rice krispies, suddenly finding them extremely unpalatable. 

“Barbara’s been spear-heading it along with Doctor Turner, I’ve already given them as much as we could manage,” Trixie carried on smoothly, nails clicking against the keyboard as she distractedly replied to her emails. 

“Lucille too?” Valerie chanced.

She pushed her bowl away. Appetite successfully ruined.

Trixie inhaled sharply, “Sorry, sweetie. Her and Babs are the head nurses, it’s their passion project along with the doctor’s.”

Of course.

“‘S fine.”

Trixie faced her once more, that awful pitying look about her face, “Have you figured it out yet? Why you--”

“Been a bit busy, Trix,” Val cut her off.

They’d been trying to weasel some sort of explanation out of her for several weeks now, but how was she supposed to ply them with an answer when it evaded even her? It was growing bothersome now, irksome. She was sick of this conversation. Wanted to forget it. Push it down and keep rolling with the punches. 

Lucille was done.

And that’s that.

“Don’t be  _ short _ with me, Valerie, you know I won’t stand for it.”

Val stood, grabbing her bowl, “It’s really not your business, is it? So, like, stay out of it.”

“Val, I’m your sister, if something is bothering you, it  _ is _ my business - just how my drinking is  _ your _ business. We look out for each other, always have and always will.”

And for whatever reason, Val felt herself uttering the most hurtful thing she could, “You’re not my sister though, are you?” 

Trixie rolled her eyes, “You’re being immature.”

“Forget about it,” Val shook her head.

“ _ Valerie _ .”

But Valerie ignored her, pushing through into the kitchen with utter force. And then stopping in her tracks.

“This is a bakery! Go do that elsewhere!” She snapped, slamming the bowl down on the table. “ _ Jesus Christ _ !”

Delia lowered back properly on her feet, cocking her head to the side. She had that confused, shocked, and definitely offended look about her face. Her jaw was set to the side, an anger about her. 

“ _ Excuse  _ me?”

Patsy sighed, head bowed, and her hands dropped from Delia’s waist.

“Deels.”

“You ‘eard,” Val spat. 

She stalked over to the sink, the bowl dropped in it so hard it should have smashed. Val wished it did. Something loud. 

“Yes I did hear,” Delia retorted, hands on her hips. “I was kissing Patsy goodbye before I left for my deliveries like  _ every day _ . I’m not having you projecting your issues onto us. Sort your head out, Val. Lest you become Sister _bloody_ Winifred.”

Valerie’s hands gripped the kitchen counter, squeezed it, choked it. Her knuckles were white. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. 

Distantly, she could make out the sound of Delia leaving, of another shared kiss, before the kitchen door swung shut. Val clenched her eyes closed. 

“I’m going to need that sink to wash my hands,” Patsy’s tone was perfectly blank, cool and caring at the same time. “I’ve four cakes to make by noon.”

Val expelled a shivering breath, “There’s going to be a shortage of muscovado sugar soon. Supplier’s having problems.”

Patsy nodded, lip ensnared between her teeth as it often was when she faced some interval dilemma of indecision. 

“I’m sure we’ll manage, we always do,” She said, gently, and loading it with extra meaning. “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on in your mind right now, Val, but we’re—”

“Only trying to help. I know.”

“What number?”

Val turned her head sharply, “What?”

“You were fine five minutes ago, and now you’re like this,” Patsy stepped closer, slow, steady. “The Lucille... _ Situation _ isn’t good but...It’s something else isn’t? I heard Trixie bring it up and then you turned. I understand.”

“Patsy, I  _ don’t want  _ to talk about it,” Val growled. 

“It’s been almost a year—”

Val pushed off the sink, “I need to go and print the boxes, big order today.”

Patsy sighed, relenting, and figiditing, “Certainly is.”

  
  


-

  
  


Last year, give or take a week, Pats and Val got back from a jaunt to the cinema to Trixie unconscious in a pool of her own vomit on the kitchen floor. Her phone was lit up with a call to the Samaritans, the poor volunteer still on the other end of the line waiting for a response. He’d been crying. Trixie’s lips were blue. But her eyes and skin were an awful shade of yellow. 

Patsy, blank face and acting on instinct, had pulled her into the recovery position, head to the side, and pressed her fingers in her throat to clear her air passage. It worked, Trixie was breathing again, heart rate accelerated. Only after paramedics took her off in the back of an ambulance did Patsy’s eyes squint, jaw set. And then she began to clean up. 

There wasn’t enough room for them in the ambulance, see. 

Val hadn’t moved, grey, shaking, from her spot leaning against the dining room table since they first came home. She brought her arms into her chest -  _ make yourself smaller, Val, you’re too gangly _ \- and held herself. Everything happened all at once, and then, with that slam of the front door, the flat was silent. 

Patsy had cleaned, changed her stained shirt and trousers, and was on the phone to Phyllis when she finally noticed Valerie’s stillness. 

“Yes, we’ll meet you there soon, Phyllis, Valerie...I’m looking after her, I promise, she’s got me.”

That’d done it then, Val keeled over in reckless sobs that tore through her whole body and eradicated her ability to balance. Patsy caught her, and the two gently slid down to the ground. Val gripped onto Patsy’s blouse, like she had done in that airplane bathroom, only instead of kissing her, she cried into her neck instead. 

Val couldn’t tell you what movie they saw that night, and she had a pretty vivid memory.

Trixie had had a stomach pump, was put on a seventy two hour observation and treated for near fatal liver failure. She didn’t want to die, she said, she’d fallen into an old bad habit she thought she’d conquered. Stress, loneliness, family history, they’d caught up with her. 

Hand clenching Trixie’s, Val had continued to cry. She didn’t even know! The trip to Portofino after mum died, Trix had said it was a graduation gift for herself. Really she’d been at a retreat, cleansing her body, treating her addiction somewhere in Italy. 

Phyllis knew because Phyllis knows everything, which is why she was careful not to drink around her. She did it discreetly, gin in the water bottle, a swig of scotch from the bottle hidden in the boot of Val’s car when she popped outside. 

At that tidbit, Val had rampaged, raising a hand to her adoptive aunt in a flurry of rage before Phyllis grabbed her wrist, twisted, and brought her to the floor. Phyllis was a brick. You never dared cross her. She cried even more. 

It was a long, arduous journey for them all, least of all Trixie who admitted herself to rehab once discharged from the hospital. Patsy, Phyllis, and Val kept the bakery running, hearts and minds distracted. Delia helped out as much as she could, an organisational whiz, but Trixie’s absence left a persistent ache. 

Val found Patsy crying one morning over a meringue. Egg white face masks on a Saturday evening. Something Trixie instilled in their routine after their discharge. It’s the only time she’d ever seen her shed a tear. She gave her space. 

She was a ghost, Val felt, drifting through the corporeal realm but not one of them. Her body was missing, trapped somewhere that night by the kitchen floor. All she could feel, see, hear, was Trixie’s absence and the blame she pressed on herself. 

She should have known, should have seen the signs. Wasn’t it only two months earlier, the grand opening, and Val had watched her sip on aperol over budgeting plans with her morning toast? 

Now, Val carried that same guilt, blame, every day. She should have seen it. Trixie could have died.  _ She should have seen it _ . It was her job, her family, her heart, to know Trixie. How could she have missed it? 

Right, because when Val hurts, she’s negligent. Jenny Lee died and Trixie succumbed to the bottle. 

Valerie loved Trixie in a way that was beyond explanation. They were sisters, best friends, tied together in abandonment and prospering in tandem. She’d been so wrapped up in her grief, trauma, whatever it was, to notice what was going on right in front of her. 

That’s why Trixie’s comment knocked her for six. She’d been struggling again, clearly, and Val was too caught up in Lucille to notice. 

What a bloody tosser. 

And the real icing on the cake? She’d only gone and hurt Trixie anyway with that comment.  _ Not her sister? _ Val didn’t believe that for even a second. 

Valerie leaned back against the headboard, hiding out in her bedroom like the petulant teenager she felt like. A cigarette between her fingers broke tenancy rules but she paid no heed. Black days would do that to you. 

Not quite a one, somewhere around two and three. 

Her phone buzzed on her bedside cabinet. 

Frowning, Val settled the cigarette between her lips and picked it up. 

**Trixie (9:22):** I love you. Take your time. 

Valerie didn’t deserve her. Not one bit. 

**Valerie (9:23):** Can Patsy manage on her own for five minutes?

The knock on her door came moments later. Trixie pushed herself in, cradling two hot chocolates piled with extra cream and marshmallows. 

“You didn’t have—”

Trixie fixed her with a stare. Val fell silent. 

Soon, Trixie had her pulled tight against her chest, watching as she sipped the hot chocolate before taking a sip herself. 

“I’m ignoring your hurtful comment because I know you didn’t mean it,” Trixie stroked her hair. “I’m doing good, Val, I promise. I’m here. It’s just...Sometimes, like you today, I wake up and it’s a difficult day for my mind. But I  _ won’t  _ do it again, I wouldn’t put you through that again.”

“I’m sorry,” Val croaked. “It’s your struggle and here I am crying about it.”

Trixie kissed the top of her head, “It’s  _ our _ struggle - I hurt you too, you’re recovering too.”

Val wasn’t entirely sold, still feeling incredibly selfish but, lord, was she exhausted. She nodded feebly, set her mug down, and curled right back into Trixie. 

At some point, she’d drifted off, lulled into sleep by the relaxing up and down of Trixie's fingers on her spine. The reassurance that she was still there. She stirred, at the sound of voices.

“Sorry, Trixie, Delia said you were up here.”

Familiar, but Val was far too addled with sleep to be able to place it. She knotted her fingers in Trixie’s sweater. 

“Delia’s back? Heavens, time seems to have gotten away from me,” Trixie replied in a whisper. “Patsy must be so behind schedule, blazes!”

“Don’t worry, it’s only ten fifteen. I thought you might need some help, what with Phyllis being on holiday and the party being quite extravagant. I managed to cajole Lucille into coming in, despite...Well, we’re here to help. And it looks like you could do with it today.”

Lucille. Valerie stiffened. 

Barbara. It was Barbara that was talking. Excitable Barbara. 

Lucille. Here. What?

“Barbara, that’s awfully kind but it’s our job—”

“Your sister needs you. And it’s our day off and  _ our _ fundraiser,” Barbara intercepted, a smile about her voice. “We’re definitely not expert bakers but I make the Christmas pudding every year and Lucille bakes treats for her church most weekends; I think we can be of use.”

There was a moment. Val kept her breathing steady. 

“Oh alright, go and ask Patsy to get you both started; I’ll see that Val’s properly settled and be right down.”

“Don’t rush, Trixie.”

Trixie let out a long sigh. Her arms squeezing Valerie tight before she slid out of the bed. 

Val was asleep again in seconds. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


There was a persistent chirping at her bedroom window when Valerie found herself blinking awake a few hours later. She’d somehow ended up on her front, half way down the bed, and one sock dangling off her foot. Hair matted with sweat. Mouth dry. Her arms were under her. They tingled, irritatingly, when she freed them, sitting up and yawning. 

Glancing at her phone, thirteen oh one, Valerie flopped back down once more. 

The grey cloud, thunder storm, that had been brewing all morning felt as though it had dissipated. The remaining puddles exhausted her but her mood had lightened. She could hear the tell-tale clattering sounds, machine whirring, Patsy and Trixie’s dulcet tones, that meant the bakery was in full swing preparing for the evening's fundraiser. 

The fundraiser. For the maternity unit. Barbara. Lucille. They’d volunteered to help. 

Val jumped up again. Lucille was here. She would know then, that Val had been having a dark day. Embarrassing didn’t cover it. Not only was she a weirdo who spouted about love in the middle of the first date, first  _ shag _ moreover, but now she was a weirdo with depressive episodes on top of that. Marvellous. That ship had clearly sailed.

Her panicked internal soliloquy was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Val rubbed her face with her hands, “I’m awake, Trix.”

Barbara poked her head in, “Not Trixie, I’m afraid.” She pushed the door open more, holding a plate of sandwiches. Wonderfully garnished sandwiches. Patsy’s special sandwiches. “I’ve come to bring you this and see how you are, as a nurse and an acquaintance.”

The plate was set down on the cabinet and Barbara lingered by the side of the bed, hands clasped in front of her. 

Val ducked her head, “I’m alright, just needed a good sleep I think.”

“Certainly,” Barbara nodded. Quickly, she sat down on the side of the bed, “Valerie if I may, my father, he’s a vicar back home. The community really trusts him and, you see, back in the late eighties, when I was maybe one year old, something terrible happened in Liverpool, well,  _ to _ Liverpool.” She kept her eyes fixed on Valerie’s, nothing but earnest behind them. “It was traumatic, quite, to a lot of families in our area and they often sought council with him--”

“I’m not--” Val started. Her nose wrinkled. “I’m friendly with the nuns, most of ‘em, but I don’t--”

“Oh no! This was exempt from faith,” Barbara continued, smiling. “He certainly found hope in the Bible and tried to pass that on but it was never the only way of coping. Mostly, they just needed someone to talk to.” Her hand reached over to squeeze Valerie’s. “The thing is, I learned as I grew up, is that those people never stopped needing someone - their hurt, trauma, wasn’t a one time occurrence. In fact, as time goes on, as they experience more hardship whether related to that incident or not, the hurt just keeps growing. They continue to see him even now. There’s no shame in it. Help isn’t a finite resource.”

Valerie glanced down at the hand on her’s. Barbara’s grip was strong and certain, warm. She found that tears had escaped her and were making their way down her cheeks. Hastily, she rubbed them away.

“I know there’s hardly any resources out there for veterans, and what there is has been cut down to its bare bones,” Barbara said. “So, if you need someone to talk to, someone who isn’t, well, caught up in everything or related to you - found family or otherwise - I’d be honoured.”

Swallowing hard, Valerie found herself nodding, “Th-Thank you, Barbara. Thank you.”

Barbara beamed, patted her hand, and then announced, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Maybe it was Barbara’s unabashed support, or the words she said, or simply because the sunlight was now bursting through the window, but Valerie figured she  _ could _ start to deal with whatever was going on in her head. 

And the first thing would be to talk to Lucille.

Explain herself more. 

Then Lucille could decide if she was worth it or not.

Yes.

Right.

“Tell, um, could you tell Trix that I’ll be down soon to help out, please, Barbara?” Val gave a soft smile. “I’ll eat these and freshen up, shouldn’t be too long.”

“Okay.”

Barbara left. 

Val picked up one of the sandwiches.

Time to face the music then. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so begins val's journey out of the big sad. lil more on trixie here, which was very therapeutic. lil more on scouse babs the best of us. delia lives with them now but is PISSED at val. lucille is.....here.  
> phyllis in jamaica is a spin off i'll never write but wish i had the time to.   
> as always I love all ur comments, keep 'em coming. <3


	10. chapter ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> communication guys

The music, Val sighed as she stood at the bottom of the stairs, hand hesitant on the door into the bakery, was really quite loud. 

“No it’s wonderful. Marvellous. Amazing. Fan-Yes, really quite fantastic.”

Seemed sarcastic Pats was floating about - she knew that tone well. Must be in a good mood. 

Val squinted her eyes and pushed the door open. 

“Well, if you’re  _ so  _ much better with your hands, Patience—”

“My name is Patsy.”

“—You can come do it yourself!” Delia’s shout paraded through the lobby, harassing Patsy in the kitchen. 

She was at the counter, clearly burdened with Valerie’s usual job, folding up the delivery boxes. Or, moreover, attempting to. Delia expelled a huff and slammed the cardboard down. 

Beside her, at the coffee machine, Barbara gave a comforting shoulder rub. With one hand, she eased the milk off the steam pump and poured it perfectly into the coffee cup. She let go of Delia to hand the drink off, putting the whole thing through the till like she’d been working there her whole life. Even served the next customer with an excitement Val hadn’t known since she was a toddler. 

“Deels, my meringues are  _ very _ temperamental. I can’t leave them to fold boxes!”

“I’ll show you a temperamental meringue later,” Delia growled, attempting the box once more. 

“Can you please wait to have a domestic until you have your own flat,” Trixie pleaded. 

Trixie, accessorised in her favourite red apron, was in the kitchen. A tube of homemade icing clenched tight in her hand. A two tier was spun on the lazy susan. She hovered over it, eyes focused, and then began decorating. 

“No can do, I’m afraid, once Delia sets her mind on something, she doesn’t waver. I fear I’ll be bunking with you tonight, Trix.”

Patsy said this as she pulled a tray of three meringue pies out of the oven, with that perfect professional flourish. They were placed down on the large, large table to the side of Trixie—

“Such horror. You’ll have to wear socks, I shan’t be the victim of your frightful foot circulation again.”

—and in front of Lucille. 

Lucille. 

She’d taken her dreads out. Her hair was shorter, pinned back, but still full of bounce. 

_ Fuck, she’s still gorgeous.  _

“You know, my father always said ‘cold feet, warm heart’,” Lucille smiled. Quickly, she was removing the pies from their pans and adding a final garnish of something (Val never pretended to understand Patsy's recipes). 

“A man after my own warm heart,” Patsy replied, returning the smile. “Now, they need packaging when Delia finally figures out how to  _ fold a box— _ ”

“I have two and a bit degrees, I won’t be bested by  _ paper _ .”

A cardboard box, _ almost _ folded perfectly, was shoved through the window. 

“—and then we can  _ finally  _ get on to the macrons. That tower is going to be difficult to construct so I want us to have enough time.”

“Of course,” Lucille was quick to grab the box, following instructions wonderfully. 

She really did light up the whole kitchen, no, the whole bakery. 

_ Valerie Dyer, you idiot.  _

“Perhaps, Pats,” Trixie said as she iced. “I’ll take your request for a hold on Mrs Turner’s account more seriously.”

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Patsy cheered. “Do you know I’ve not even had a moment to start the nun’s cakes and I’ve an increasing fear that Sister Monica Joan is going to descend from the ceiling and start picking off this order.”

“She’s the half crown you left the tip mug with,” Trixie nodded to Lucille. “Awfully lovely but a pest when it comes to sweet treats.”

“We keep her happy with their weekly orders but she seems to escape at least once a week to have tea with Valerie and I must always have a new sweet treat for her,” Patsy grinned, her tongue poking between her teeth. 

“Has to be new as well,” Delia interjected. “One time Pats served her custard creams two weeks on the trot and she declared she’d grown weary of such consistency, so weary she was to fall to an early death.”

“Yes, luckily Deels had a penguin bar in her backpack which kept her quiet.”

Lucille, lip snagged between her teeth in concentration, worked perfect bows on the delivery boxes. 

Then asked, “She comes to have tea with Valerie?”

It was delivered cool, calm. But the very asking of it intrigued Valerie.

Trixie and Patsy shared a fleeting glance. Delia cleared her throat. 

Continuing to ice a rather delicate sort of frill on the cake, Trixie said, “Well, Val’s usually always out front, especially those first few weeks - Sister Monica Joan waltzed in one morning and took a shine to her.”

“If I remember correctly, she even pinched her cheeks,” Patsy tried to sound casual as she weighed out ingredients. “Said she had a hero’s heart, quoted some poetry—”

“Keates, dear.”

“—Thank you, Deels. And then they carried on chatting. She’s near senile, Sister Monica Joan, and Valerie’s become a near,  _ dear _ , friend to her.”

Lucille bobbed her head, fiddling with a ribbon, “She has a kind heart - that much was clear.”

“Think it’s par for the course for the calling,” Trixie said.

“I didn’t mean the Sister,” Lucille muttered in a response.

Val leaned against the door frame, softened. She hadn’t been spotted, the angle of the wall hid her good enough, and she enjoyed that. Calmer, she felt, seeing Lucille in  _ her  _ environment, with  _ her  _ family. 

“Quite. If it wasn’t for Valerie, I’d be alone somewhere in the Sumatra, and that’s the optimistic outcome,” Patsy passed off nonchalantly, popping an almond into her mouth. The rest of them were poured into the blender. 

At Lucille’s raised eyebrow, Patsy continued, “I enlisted in the army after medical school because it was either that or return home. We had no option but to take honourable discharge, I fretted, Valerie insisted I come back with her.”

“And I’ve been burdened with you ever since,” Trixie teased. 

“And I you, Trix, and I you,” Patsy retorting, smirking. 

The blender kicked on, distorting their voices. They continued talking it seemed, but Valerie could no longer hear the banter. So, ultimately, it seemed the perfect time to step out into the lobby.

Barbara beamed, “Valerie, hi!”

Val gave a small wave, glancing over to the kitchen and nodding a hello to the others. 

“Thank you, god,” Delia was quick to literally jump over the counter to her, and then rested her hands on Valerie’s biceps. “I’m right pissed at you—“

“I’m sorry, I—”

“—But that’s for later, now, you fold,” Delia drove her right over to the counter. 

That’s that then. 

“Coffee?” Barbara asked her. 

Val blinked. 

Delia was leaning over through the window to kiss Patsy’s cheek in a farewell, “I’ll be back for the dance, and you owe me a tango.”

“Certainly, sweetheart.”

Trixie gagged, “Vile.”

“I’ll have a black coffee, Babs,” Valerie smiled. 

Delia rolled her eyes and was soon out of the door in a flurry. 

“Where is she—”

“A lecture at UCL, she completely forgot she was supposed to be  _ giving _ ,” Patsy answered, shaking her head. “I often wonder what’s a consequence of the traumatic brain injury or simply her personality.”

Valerie chuckled, steadily beginning to fold the boxes, “Seems you lot have everything under control, thought I was going to come down to a shit show.”

“It still very well could be if Patsy doesn’t stop  _ shaking the table _ ,” Trixie huffed, righting her hold on the icing bag. “I won’t have anything less than perfection but you’re making it exceedingly difficult. Must you be so rough?”

Patsy put down her mixing spoon, hand on her hip, “You get the best results, the harder you go.”

“I  _ know _ , I’ve  _ seen _ it,” Trixie shivered. 

“And heard it,” Val interjected.

Barbara passed her a coffee cup, a smile as warm as the drink to go along with it.

Lucille looked between them all, “How...close are you?”

“Exceedingly,” Patsy answered, returning to her cooking. “We’re a…”

“Family of reprobates,” Trixie smirked. 

Val chuckled, “Rapscallions - that’s what Sister Evangelina said that one time.”

The Infamous Halloween Hoedown of 2019 really was quite aptly named and had certainly left quite a stamp on their little corner of town. Chaotic, was the most appropriate word to describe. Being it was scheduled on the one night a year - October thirty first, of course - that Val and Patsy permitted themselves to get rip roaring drunk and allow themselves to cry. It was a blowout of PTSD and always under the supervision of their friends. 

Only crying didn’t happen last year. 

Trixie, absolutely sober but taken over with the frivolities of everything, had invited everyone she met on the run to the supermarket to join. Patsy spent five minutes walking around on her hands. Delia had been singing on the roof at one point. Music was  _ ridiculously _ loud. Even  _ Phyllis _ had gotten so sloshed, she spent a good portion of the evening sitting in the pantry with a family sized pack of prawn cocktail Walkers refusing to come out. 

Needless to say, the good ol’ nuns at the top of the hill had been severely disappointed in their behaviour. 

(Well, Sister Monica Joan thought Delia’s one woman  _ Cell Block Tango _ routine in the middle of the street was actually quite marvellous and often recounted it with such glee).

Barbara and Lucille were keenly listening. There’d been no customers for a several minutes so Barbara rested on the window, having sneaked a cookie from the excess pile. Lucille was preparing the food dyes for the macrons. Apparently they were going a blue gradient. 

There was a soft smile on her face, as though she was comforted, entertained, by the banter between Pats and Trix. ‘course Val understood this quite a bit. Was good to see. Felt like they were expanding their little group. 

Maybe if they talked, got over whatever happened, Val wouldn’t mind if Babs and Lucille joined their family.

Lucille’s eyes flicked to her and she choked, discreetly, on the coffee.

That’d be difficult to rein in if platonic was the route chosen. 

“Maybe if Trix had covered more than her  _ nipples _ , we wouldn’t have received fliers for Sunday Services for a month,” Patsy said, a giggle behind the words.

Trixie rolled her eyes, “I’ll have you know, Lucille, Barbara, I was wearing pants. I’m certain the fliers had something to do with Valerie and that  _ butch _ against the  _ butcher’s shop _ .”

Ah, Denise.

_ Yeah _ .

“In my defense,” Valerie started, slurping her coffee. “Pats and Deels had sex on the roof, least I was down the alleyway.”

“Really quite a choice considering you have a perfectly functioning bed upstairs,” Trixie drawled. “I expect Pats had to look further but--”

“Will you stop saying that! We did  _ not _ have sex on the roof!”

Val cocked her head to the side, “Then why’d I find your knickers out there, Pats?”

A huff escaped her; Patsy clearly had no argument. 

Because it was true.

(Delia still bragged about it.)

“Do you know,” Barbara started, wiggling her mouth in an awkward twitch. Val raised an eyebrow to her. “I think the three of you are really quite wonderful.”

Respectably, Val, Pats, and Trix blushed, uncertain as to how to respond. 

“Thank you, Barbara,” Trixie smiled brightly. 

Lucille inhaled and then added, with a gentle grin, “I was thinking the same thing.”

Val stumbled on her sip once more.

From there on, the kitchen was closed as the macaron tower was crafted and constructed. Really quite fanciful, it turned out. Like, she knew Patsy was  _ good _ but damn, she was  _ good.  _ Val and Babs stayed serving customers, cleaning up, and then loaded the goods into the back of the Toyota. Trixie and Barbara called delivering to the town hall in preparation. Patsy declared it her mission to get the nuns’ orders done before four and shooed Lucille out of the kitchen for intense focus. 

And not at all for any other reason. 

_ I’m certain Valerie _ . 

Val, stressed, depressed, and dressed in sweats, made Lucille a warm brew and figured now was as good as any to clear the air. 

Alright, Pats?

For fresh air and privacy, Val invited Lucille to join her on the front step. They could still serve customers and it was less...intense than inviting her upstairs. 

“It’s...Thank you for, um, helping; it’s-,” Val cleared her throat. She found herself picking at the skin on her hands. She shook them free. “Kind.”

Lucille smiled from behind the mug, holding it close to her, “It was all Barbara’s idea, I’m ashamed to say that I was...hesitant to return.”

Valerie nodded. 

A deep breath, then Lucille said, “But I’m glad I did.” She turned to look at Valerie. “I...have been wanting to apologise for asking you to leave the other week. Yet I’ve been too much of a coward to come here and…” 

Lucille shook her head. 

“I get it,” Val gave her a reassuring smile, heart thudding some sort of drum. “Often, I find that things just spiral, out of control. Conversations usually, never really been that good at having ‘em.”

Beside her, Lucille sighed. 

“Or feelings, I think,” Valerie carried on. She hesitated for a moment, fingers plucking once more, before carrying on, “No, I...I get overwhelmed. I don’t really know how to describe it, I...It’s a...Look, Lucille, I think you’re beautiful.” Val licked her lips and focused her gaze on the woman beside her. “Have since the first morning you walked in here after that night shift. But then we had a date and it was...It was so fantastic. And my thick skull, that’s what Trix and Phyllis call it ‘cause I fell down a  _ lot _ in the playground, got overloaded with these...these feelings for you. Good feelings that it—...Short circuited? It was like the familiar feeling of being wanted beyond...you know, that I had with my ex. Which I know you’re not. And I’m glad, really, but I think I missed feeling those feelings and my brain just did a hop-skip-jump to its own conclusion.” 

Val looked back down at her hands. 

“I’m not in love with you,” She said firmly. “Nor do I love you. Not...I think I could, maybe, if you were...consenting to it. One day. But I do think you’re pretty, and wonderful, and you calm whatever energy is going on in me right down and I really  _ really _ enjoyed our date before—”

“Valerie.”

Lucille had set the mug down beside her on the step and turned herself closer into Valerie. Slowly, she reached over and placed her hands over Val’s. They hurt - from the picking - but she let herself be held. 

“I’m not good at being vulnerable,” Valerie held her stare. “But you look at me, like this, and disarm every barrier I have in place.”

Lucille glanced down at their hands, “I know what you mean.” She gave them a squeeze. “I never would usually invite a person to my home after stepping out only once but I trusted you. You...You say I calm you down, but you ignite something in me. I wanted you in a way that I’ve never felt before.”

Past tense. 

Oh. 

That hurt. 

“Then I went and bloody ruined—”

“I was taken aback by what you said, yes,” Lucille continued, soft. “I could have... _ We _ could have talked it over. It was the other thing you revealed that upset me.”

Val frowned. 

“When I asked you—”

“Oh.”

_ That.  _

“Luc, I…have no explanation for why I—”

“I’m not here to judge, Valerie, this isn’t the nineteen-fifties, you’re free to engage in sex with as many people as you wish,” Lucille said. “It’s not a lifestyle I have followed but, I respect your decision.”

Val squinted. 

Then why…?

“In the moment, I was upset, very upset, because you had been so  _ charming _ and gentle and I was so smitten with you, as I said. And then I find out that you have been with a lot of other women and I-.... It may not have been your intention, but it made me feel...All you wanted was to get me into bed.”

“No!” Val replied, shaking her head. “No, that’s not at all what I—I didn’t even-...”

“I know that now. After reflection, after talking with Trixie and Patsy today,” Lucille was smiling softly. “I’m sorry for acting brash that night and I’m more sorry for not saying it sooner.”

“‘S okay,” Val gave her a grin back. 

“I know this has been...But Trixie said you were having a dark day?” Lucille queried. God, her face was so kind. 

“Um, yeah, it...happens. Sometimes. Randomly,” Val shrugged. “PTSD usually is the cause but sometimes it’s just...the anniversary of something or someone’s birthday.”

“What was it today?” 

Valerie sighed, “Bit of everything.”

“I don’t want to pressure you,” Lucille turned their hands over to stroke Val’s palm. “I’m glad you came downstairs. I’m glad we got to talk.”

“Me too,” Val met her eyes. She bit her lip before saying, “Your hair, I like it.”

“Thank you,” Lucille replied. 

And then she moved closer and rested her head on Valerie’s shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of u were at all curious, the gals’ vibes are: pats season 3 superior hair, trixie season 8, val is jen’s current irl hair cause that’s a LOOK, babs and luc are their respective show looks but like...maybe a fun hair clip.
> 
> this was a v important point to make
> 
> also fresh starts and swing dances incoming


	11. chapter eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exes, dances, crushes oh my!

_ So…friends? _

Val mused tentatively over a pint at the bar at the community centre. 

The fundraiser, a late fifties swing dance fiasco, was in full, well,  _ swing _ with poodle skirts and patterned ties flying just about everywhere. The stench of hairspray was rife. Val waged any siballance of an open flame and half the bleedin’ partiers would go up in smoke.

Was a nice atmosphere though. Vibrant. Classy. Shelagh Turner watched like a hawk over the rim of those infamous glasses, on the lookout for anything that might cause harm to such a perfect evening. 

That’s why Val had taken to lingering at the bar, in the corner, under protection of shadow. The limelight was for Trix and Pats tonight - both of whom looked perfectly at home, and perfectly pretty, doing the old two-step over the linoleum. She caught Trixie’s smile, unabashed and free, as Patsy twirled her excitedly around the room. It was good. She was happy. 

Her lemonade sat next to Valerie’s hand.

Trix returned back Barbara-less soon after Lucille had rested her head on Val’s shoulder. Or long after. Val wasn’t exactly all that sure, time seemed to run away when Lucille was around. Anyway, after that, Lucille cycled home too, leaving the three bakers to finish the nuns’ order and close up for the day before getting ready for the dance. 

Trixie had chatted  _ relentlessly  _ about Barbara as they got ready, an action which had Patsy and Val share a knowing stare. They’d gotten used to it over the years, Trixie’s occasional fixation on the odd woman between boyfriends. She never seemed to do anything about it, but just became really good friends with them. 

Before Barbara, there was Cynthia, and before Cynthia there was Jeanie. 

There was an edge to it, Val found and Patsy agreed, that was a little more than friendship.

But they just let Trix go about her own obliviousness, patiently waiting for the one day she’d actually reflect on her own proclivities. 

Barbara was cute. 

They’d be cute. 

Nothing more to it really. 

Anyway, considering that morning Valerie figured the most exciting her evening would get was the  _ Buffy _ reruns on Channel 4, she found her wardrobe distinctly lacking anything that would fit the bill for a swing dance. 

Luckily, Patsy’s plethora of plaid had saved her along with Trixie’s countless accessories and some hair gel from an ex we needn’t name. Val scrubbed up nice, she thought, trousers, low cut blouse, hair slicked back. And apparently Lucille thought so too if that eye blowing wasn’t entirely imagined. 

(She’d licked her lips too but we shouldn’t focus on  _ that _ , right?)

So Luc still thought she was attractive which was... _ good _ ? Their conversation on the stoop had cleared the air for rationality but not for intentions.  _ Were _ they just friends now with their failed date looming over them as a reminder of what could have been? Or would they inevitably end up pursuing each other once more?

Val didn’t quite know.

For starters, Lucille sounded like she was still grappling with the fact that Valerie wasn’t a  _ player _ . Val scoffed at that. I mean sure, if the shoe fits but...What sick twisted irony that  _ that _ should be what throws a wrench in her finally open to commitment breakthrough? 

(The fear that Sister Winifred  _ had _ in fact cursed her was becoming increasingly more rational as the weeks wore on)

I mean, Val did drop the L-word after kissing her for a grand total of ten minute give or take. Granted, mortifyingly awful and humiliating  _ but _ surely that’s some indication that she considered Lucille beyond the other women. 

Val sipped her pint. 

The woman in question, donned in seemingly out of place professional wear — nice heels, though, they accented... _ things _ — was making her rounds with Barbara and the good Doctor Turner, chatting to potential donors, looking wonderfully brilliant while doing so. Seemed Val wasn’t the first in a long line of suckers who felt at ease in Lucille’s presence, and she certainly wasn’t going to be the last. 

Her saddened soliloquy was interrupted by a voice she hadn’t heard in months and had very astutely hoped to never hear again. 

“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?”

_ Cripes _ . 

Val turned on her heel, plastering on a bright smile for the newcomer, pushing past every provocation to break his nose. 

“Hi Tom, been a while.”

“Certainly has, Valerie, you’re looking...handsome,” Tom offered, politely. As reverends do. 

Val had to squint to see his grin. He really did have  _ such _ a tiny mouth. 

“Well, my poodle skirt was at the dry cleaners so I had to whip the butch out unfortunately,” Valerie lamented with every muscle acting in pure sarcasm. 

The bastard sat himself down on the very bar stool next to Valerie. 

“I wouldn’t have expected to see you here,” Tom said frankly. “I’m aware you cater them, but I wouldn’t have thought community fundraisers where a place for the Nomads to party.”

Valerie slurped her beer, “Had nothing else on this evening, figured we’d do our part for the cause - show our faces.”

“Here I was thinking an NHS discount would be enough,” His smarmy smirk was reprehensible. 

“Twenty five percent off and a hefty donation to the fundraising pot,” Valerie said this plainly. She turned to him. “And Trixie popped some of her own money in too.”

At the mention of the other woman, Tom set his jaw, “Of course, wouldn’t expect anything less of her.”

“Hmm.”

Tom flagged down the barmaid and ordered whatever reverend’s drink. Val never bothered to learn his booze order; frankly, she knew from the start he wouldn’t be sticking around. 

His gaze was cast out to the dance floor. 

Patsy hoisted Trixie up on her shoulders. 

“I see those two are as close as ever,” Tom commented. Dry. Bitter. 

Poor bastard was still hard pressed about his own damned decision. Val supposed she could have some fun with this. 

“Of course,” Valerie replied, joining his stare. “Pats has always been the only one who can keep up with Trix on the dance floor. ‘Fraid it’ll be left to me once Delia gets here.”

“Delia?”

“Patsy’s girlfriend - been together, oh, well over a year now,” Val said. Oh how much  _ fun _ this was turning out to be. 

Tom closed his eyes as he expelled a deep sigh, “Patsy has a…?” His thumb and forefinger pinched his nose. Such a welcoming target. 

“And it’s  _ not _ Trixie,” Valerie quirked an eyebrow to him. Took another sip. “Funny that, isn’t it? 

“They—”

Val placed her glass down firm, “You called my sister a liar and a cheat.”

“She is a liar!” Tom retorted, the diminutive façade of a lowly reverend evaporating. “She lied to  _ you _ about Portofino.”

“And who’s fault was Portofino in the first place, Tom? Maybe if you’d have been paying attention to your girlfriend instead of galavanting with parishioners, she wouldn’t have found attention in the bloody bottle,” Valerie growled back. 

Tom grit his teeth, “Well, if  _ you _ hadn’t abandoned her on some reckless hero’s quest to proof yourself, she would have more support than me! They’re parishioners, and I’m a curate, I couldn’t devote every waking moment to her.”

Valerie reclined, “You can blame Patsy all you want but you were a shit boyfriend well before she came into the picture.”

Tom barked a humourless laugh, “Your sister wasn’t exactly perfect either, Valerie, as soon as you brought Patsy back with you, she was right in bed with her.”

“Tom, Trixie  _ did not _ ,  _ has not _ , and  _ will not _ shag Patsy,” Valerie declared. “Whatever you think happened between them, most certainly didn’t. Trixie isn’t even interested in women!”

“You saw what she was like with Cynthia.”

“Tom,  _ really _ ? I think you’re just being a bloody homophobe and a jealous, petulant little man to boot,” Val shook her head. “She loved  _ you _ , only ever wanted to be with  _ you _ . Not Cynthia or Patsy, she’s  _ straight _ for the love of god.”

Well, she  _ said _ she was. But Val wasn’t about to open up to Tom about their doubts. 

“And what would you know? Like you admit, Trixie’s lied to you too,” Tom shrugged this, nonchalant, but with hidden weight. 

“Trixie’s lied to me  _ once _ .”

Tom leaned forward, licked his lips, and, staring Valerie right in the eyes, asked: “How can you be sure?”

“Your bravado is noted,” Val gritted back. Expressing a loud sigh, she found herself taking another long sip of her pint. When the glass was empty, she asked, “Why are you even here? It’s not like you have the ability to donate, Mr Vow of Poverty.”

Tom grinned at that actually and Valerie was overcome with the notion that something terribly awful was about to happen. 

“I’m here to support my girlfriend—” He gestured out to the tables.

_ Oh fuck.  _

“—She’s one of the head nurses—“

To the donors and the three laughing with them. 

_ Oh Jesus.  _

“—Barbara’s really pushed through this project, had to be here for her.”

Trixie was watching Barbara giggling along with Lucille and Doctor Turner. Smitten. 

_ Fucking hell _ .

Tom left, after Val had shrugged off his great revelation for internal screeching. Soon after he vacated, Patsy dropped down into the stool beside Val, Trixie soon on her lap. 

“You’re just trying to make a point now, aren’t you?” Val laughed at the antics. 

Patsy wrapped her arms around Trixie’s waist, “Whatever do you mean?” She asked innocently. 

“What did the rat bastard want?” Trixie grabbed her lemonade, hurriedly passing Patsy her gin. 

Val shrugged, “Asked why we’re here. ‘pparently he doesn’t think this a scene for us _ Nomads _ .”

“Do we really get referred to as that by everyone?” Patsy frowned. Her chin rested on Trixie’s shoulder. 

“Looked as though it got a little heated,” Trixie remarked. “Did he say anything to you?”

“I gave him what for is what,” Val grumbled. “Told him about Delia though, looked like he was gonna scream at that. Proved him wrong.”

“At what point do you suppose I ought to tell Deels about  _ that _ whole...palava?”

“Absolutely never,” Val answered frankly. “Can’t be sharing my bed with you again when she inevitably kicks you out your room.”

Patsy pouted, “She does do that quite a lot, doesn’t she?”

“It’s because you’re more trouble than you’re worth sometimes, Patsy,” Trixie giggled, and pressed a kiss to Patsy’s cheek, “I’m off to the bathroom, don’t miss me too much.”

She had no soon disappeared than Valerie asked, “You’ve never had sex with my sister, have you?”

“What?” Patsy choked on her gin. “Valerie, no.”

Val raised her hands, “Just checking. I know the little  _ thing _ you had for her when—”

“We’re not discussing  _ that _ any further,” Patsy stared her down sharply. 

When they’d first come home, stopping in their childhood home down in Brighton before picking their own place, Pats had never been told that she was loved before. So when Trix came home one day and, upon discovering that the whole house had been scrubbed spotlessly clean, declared she may have fallen a little bit in love with her, Patsy had suitably  _ actually  _ fallen a teensy bit. Oh the flirting had been subtle and charming and Val even took some notes. Trix didn’t reciprocate though, entangled in her boyfriend -  _ ugh _ \- and her best friend Cynthia -  _ aw _ . 

Patsy got over it quickly though, learning that loving Trixie as a best friend was all she really needed. 

Val chuckled and shook her head. Her gaze fell on Lucille almost naturally. But then it travelled to Barbara and Tom and—

“Oh god, Pats.”

Patsy, occupied with picking lint off her shirt, replied, “What?”

“I have bad news.”

Patsy looked up at that, utterly devastated, “Do I have a hair out of place?”

Val blinked, “Wha..? No, your bloody beehive is fine.” A beat. “It’s actually a good look for you, you know.”

“My mother always said I was burdened with classical features - I didn’t quite like the word choice.”

Valerie nodded at that, admiring - as she had way back when - the curve of her jaw, pointed cheek bones, those freckles.

“Then what is it?”

Val cleared her throat, “You know that development we talked about?”

Patsy tongued her cheek, “The one with you and Lucille or the one with you and actually learning to bake?”

“The one with…Oi!” Val trailed off and swatted her friend's arm. 

Patsy caught her wrist, raised an eyebrow. 

“Alright, at ease, soldier,” Val pulled her hand back. “I meant the one with Trixie and Babs.”

“Oh. That one,” Patsy nodded. “Hm.” She took a swig of her gin. “What’s the bad news? Babs straight?”

“Probably. But it’s worse than that.”

“What could  _ possibly _ be worse than  _ heterosexuality _ ?” 

An empty glass was placed down. 

“Case point,” Valerie flagged the bartender for their refills. “Barbara’s dating Tom.”

Patsy bobbed her head for a moment, and then asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“Barbara. Tom,” Valerie repeated, following with some obscene finger gesturing that had Patsy cover it and place her hands down. “Trix is going to be devastated.”

Two fresh drinks were placed down in front of them and Val chugged the pint almost desperately. 

“That’s not going to be enjoyable,” Patsy sighed, passing a twenty to the barkeep and waving at him to keep the change. She bit her lip, “Should we, you know,  _ tell _ her?”

“What was that thing you said about honesty?” Val asked lamely. “That sometimes it’s best not to tell the truth if the truth is going to cause more harm than good?”

“Yes but she’s going to find out eventually,” Patsy said. “Wouldn’t you rather her know now before she gets too invested in Barbara?”

Val sighed, “I don’t know.” She rubbed her eyes. “She’s getting her year chip this week, I can’t—”

“I know,” Patsy rubbed her shoulder. “How about we give her the night? Or a few days? Then...We approach Barbara with it? Surely if we explain—”

“That her boyfriend’s a psychopath?”

Patsy paused, “Now, I don’t think that’s a correct or helpful diagnosis—“

“Apologies,  _ Doctor _ Mount.”

“But perhaps something of the sort,” Patsy continued. She looked out to Barbara. “One wonders if she’s mentioned Trixie to him at all - they have been texting a lot, getting closer. Positively besties in the kitchen today before you came down.”

“I don’t want to risk her happiness,” Valerie said softly. She gave a small smile. “Speak to Babs next time she’s in — sounded like it was gonna be a repeat occurrence.”

“Yes. Quite. How are you feeling about that? Did you and Lucille chat?”

Val whistled through her teeth, “We did.”

“And?” Patsy leaned forward. 

“I’ve no idea,” Val shrugged. “Didn’t really get to that part.”

Patsy raised an eyebrow, “Did you kiss?”

“No,” Val ducked her head. “That wasn’t...the  _ tone _ .”

“Oh dear,” Pats reached over and squeezed her thigh. “For what it’s worth, she was worried about you all afternoon.”

“I don’t know, Pats—”

“Don’t know what?” Trixie’s melodic tones appeared very suddenly as she returned, an exhausted looking Delia in tow. “Found this one waltzing up when I was having a cigarette.”

Delia was quick to lean into Patsy, biting back a yawn. Trixie, of course, moved to claim Valerie’s lap now. 

“How did it go?” Val asked. 

“Such and such,” Delia mumbled. “I think the poor students were just as eager to get out and party as I was.”

“Should have taken a bottle with you,” Patsy smirked. “A shot for every new slide.”

“I would have been a lot more receptive to late afternoon lectures if that was the case,” Trixie chuckled. Val cradled her tight. 

“Speaking of shots, I’ll be having a jäger and then I’ll be good to get on that dancefloor,” Delia slammed her hands down on the bar. 

“You mustn’t over do yourself, sweetheart,” Patsy rubbed her back, kissed her neck. 

Trixie curled into Valerie, “I’ll have another lemonade, please Deels.” She said softly to Val, “Makes you envious, doesn’t it?”

“You want a girlfriend, sis?” Val teased

“No,” Trixie rolled her eyes. “But it would be nice to have someone. They’re in love, you declared you love Lucille. Even Phyllis is enjoying the company of some new man in Jamaica. Seems as though all of my friends are falling in love and I’m just—”

“Okay to clarify, I’m not in love with Lucille—”

“Yet,” was Patsy’s contribution. 

“And,  _ what _ did you say about Phyllis?”

Trixie pulled out her phone. New photographs of Phyllis indeed in the company of a new man greeted her. They were in a forest together. An axe was involved. 

Val filed  _ that _ away for processing at a later date. 

Now, she hugged her sister closer, “You’re going to find your person soon, promise.”

Trixie simply hummed and though Valerie could not see, she had the indescribable feeling that Trixie was looking to Barbara. 

Delia threw her head back with the jägerbomb and beckoned Patsy on the dance floor. They scarpered off excitedly. 

Val smiled, “Wanna dance, sissy?”

Trixie turned to her, returning the smile, “Only if you  _ try _ to keep up.”

  
  


-

  
  


Later,  _ much  _ later, Val leaned against the cool redbrick of the community centre, fag hanging from her lips as she pat her pockets down for a bloody lighter. No luck, she shoved the cigarette behind her ear and gave herself a moment to pout. Didn’t even get that. Her phone buzzed. 

**Lucille (23:33):** Did you really leave without saying bye?

Val grinned. 

**Valerie (23:33):** Outside. If you have a lighter, you’d surpass Trixie as my favourite person. 

She received no response yet a couple moments later there was a click and flame appeared beside her head. 

“I don’t condone this habit,” Lucille warned, eyes heavy. Valerie lit the cigarette. Lucille handed her the lighter. “It’s Patsy’s - I think Delia’s mad at her now.”

Val took a puff, “Been trying to get us both to quit for a year. ‘Course, I’m not her girlfriend so Patsy gets the brunt. Way I see it, we could have much worse coping habits.

Lucille still eyed her, sceptical, “Did your ex not ask you to quit?”

A pause. Val shook her head, “Magda’s Russian - par for the course, really. She’s the one who gave me and Trix our first pack of smokes.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm. Friends in high school. Something more by sixth form. Dumped me my second year in the army. Dear John letter, truly tragic,” Val snorted. 

Lucille stepped closer, “I didn’t mean to bring up…”

“It’s okay,” Val nudged her arm. “Really. I-I’m well over her.”

“Okay,” Lucille looked up to her. 

Even in the horrendous orange of the old street lights, Lucille glowed. The demure little dress and the soft nude makeup, she really was just...beautiful. And those eyes, though tired, were wide and unrelenting in their softness. 

“See I’ve got my eye on someone new,” Val said coolly. 

Lucille nodded, rolling her lower lip between her teeth, “You do?”

“Yeah,” Val inched closer. “I’m taking it slow though, wouldn’t want to come off too strong.”

“Of course,” Lucille bit back a laugh. 

Valerie felt her lean into her, arms brushing, as they both looked up to the clear night sky. She found the cigarette burned away in her hand, having only taken one drag, but she didn’t mind it. 

There was a movement beside her, Lucille removed something from her clutch, pressing it into Valerie’s hand. 

“For you.”

And then she disappeared back inside. 

Val frowned. 

It was the ten pound note. Seemed to even be the same one. Her face flushed. Only this time something had been scribbled on it. 

In Lucille’s lovely loopy writing, over the Queen it read:

_ One day. Maybe.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.......how we feelin?


	12. chapter twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: nightmare, trauma talk

“ _ Gooooooood Morning, Hempstead, hope you’re all loving this beautiful Monday morning. As always we’re here bringing you the hippest, hoppest new tracks of the week. Coming up now is the new one from Harry Styles, here’s Watermelon Sugar! Keep smiling Hempstead!” _

“Do you know I think I prefer the dulcet cries of Billy Fury,” Patsy commented wryly, utter force pushing the rolling pin across some pastry dough. “The DJs on this station are so…”

“Enthusiastic?” Val offered from the window. 

“At least Radio Four eases you into it in the morning,” Patsy sighed. 

She quickly wrapped the rolled out dough back up in cling film and deposited it in the fridge, fiddling with one of the many magnetic timers stuck to the front. 

“You’ll get your doo-wop back when Phyllis comes home and curses Trixie for fiddling with her property,” Valerie replied. 

Patsy moved to the oven, pulling out her pain au chocolates. Seven twenty nine as always. 

“Any word on when that’ll be yet? I’m missing her ruthless critique of my kneading capabilities. She seems to think that since the physiotherapist is a few more sessions away from signing me off that should I be on par with Paul bloody Hollywood.”

Val shrugged, dragging herself out of her seat and embarking to the door. Undoing the latch, she yawned, “She told Trix she was extending to the tenth. She’s wound up in Cuba now--”

“Well at least she can put those Spanish classes to good use.”

The pain au chocolates were placed on a display tray then rested on the window. Val moved them to the counter. 

“--With the Jamaican man she was axing through a forest with,” Val exhaled, shaking her head. “She’s a brick.”

“She’s certainly something,” Patsy smirked. “Explains a lot about you and Trixie.”

Val cocked an eyebrow, “Awfully _ friendly _ with strange men?”

“Awfully friendly,” Patsy winked back. 

“It’s good about your hand though,” Valerie smiled brightly towards her. It settled into a smirk. “Soon you’ll be able to--”

“Don’t finish that sentence, I implore you.”

Valerie just rolled her eyes and picked up one of the pain au chocolates, “We all know what you do on  _ our  _ sofa bed.”

“Yes, but we don’t need to discuss it.”

“I’ll just wait until Delia gets down here,” Val stuck her tongue out. 

Patsy didn’t reply. Stretching her arms above her head, she clicked her back, eyeing the list in front of her. 

She picked up the paper, appraised it, “Very slow day.”

Val hummed in agreement and then cast her eyes out to the street. The pain au chocolat hung from her mouth. “Oh no.”

Patsy appeared at the window again, “Oh no what?”

“Morning, ladies!”

Shelagh Turner held a reputation that preceded her short stature insurmountably. Receptionist slash personal assistant slash general busybody to the mayor and local MPs had her running around the town, involved in every possible jurisdiction. She was relentlessly kind and, rumour had it, used to have been one of the nuns up at the library before she met the Good Doctor. Val never thought to enquire about it though. 

Since they applied for a permit to pop a bakery in Ursula’s Old Laundrette, Shelagh had been a prominent figure in their lives. She’d rushed their planning permission through, ensured they were all ready to go, even did the marketing for their launch event! 

Truly an angel sent from above, she was. 

Reliable, consistent, downright generous beyond reason. 

They’d rip into her sometimes when she wasn’t around, for the overwhelming absurdity of the orders she’d place, but at the end of the day, they really did appreciate her. 

Well Trixie, Phyllis and Valerie did. However, Patsy’s blood pressure instinctively tripled any time she came into the store. 

(They were working on it). 

The window, subtly, quietly, closed over. 

“Alright, Mrs Turner, what can we do for you today?” Val grinned, spinning her chair around to face the woman properly. 

Shelagh returned the smile, holding her handbag to her chest, “I was actually...Wondering if I could speak to you regarding a personal matter, Valerie, if you were able?”

“Yes! Uh, are we okay to chat here though? Trix won't be here til later and Delia’s preparing for her hand-in upstairs,” Val rolled her lip between her teeth. 

Shelagh nodded. 

Valerie smiled once more, and patted the chair next to her, “What’s the matter?”

Hastily making her way behind the counter and perching on the chair, Shelagh took a moment before she spoke. 

“As you know, Patrick and I adopted Angela when she was a newborn—”

“Oh,” Val furrowed her brows, leaning in more. “I didn’t, I always thought she was...Well, yeah.”

Shelagh chuckled, “Sorry, I feel as though you’ve been here for much longer than you have!” She squeezed Valerie’s knee. “But yes, I can’t...Naturally. So we adopted Angela. As I said, she was a newborn then so our stance was to be open about her being adopted and should she choose to seek out her birth mother once she’s eighteen, we’ll fully support her.”

“Of course, yes.”

“Well, we’ve actually chosen to expand our family a little further and we’re in the process of adopting a young girl from Hong Kong,” Shelagh said, proud. 

The kitchen window slid open slowly. 

“Her mother and father had been unable to provide for her and she’s been in care for a number of years now,” Shelagh continued. “She’s only seven but she’s had such a difficult time so far.”

Val pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth, nails picking at the skin on her hand, “Hm.”

“I suppose I was just curious, and I was wondering if you would be able to shine some light on what it’s like as a child to be adopted. Obviously, Angela doesn’t know her birth parents, but poor May knows her quite well. It poses a new challenge, one supposes.”

Val swallowed, “Not if you’re kind.”

Shelagh blinked at that, cocked her head, “Kind?”

“All a child that hasn’t been shown kindness at all wants, is kindness,” Val pushed a smile to her lips. “It’s not...It’s not as difficult as it seems like it should be. There’s moments, um, times when I would wish I could be like ‘oh I get this from my dad’ or ‘well, my mum said my birth was like this’; but they’re fleeting. Same as the moments when I remember how sad I was in that place or in the kids home. Only whispers. But yeah. Most of who I am is how mum and Phyllis raised us. Um. It’s...Yeah. Just be kind.”

Shelagh bobbed her head as she digested the statement.

“From what I can tell, and what I hear people say, you’re a wonderful mum, Mrs Turner,” Val patted her hands. “You’ll be great.”

A relieved sigh escaped Shelagh, “Thank you, Valerie.”

“Do you speak Cantonese, Mrs Turner?” Patsy asked. She’d busied herself with hand drying the mixing bowls. She did this now, with her lip between her teeth. 

“Actually, Patsy, I studied Law and Mandarin at University,” Shelagh turned to her. “I was going to come and ask you next if you could help me make the jump to Cantonese.”

Patsy nodded, “I can certainly try, it’s been a while since I needed to use it.”

“Doesn’t your father still live out there?”

Val tapped Shelagh’s leg, shaking her head vehemently. 

“Oh, Sorry.”

Patsy raised her hands, no bother and returned back to her cleaning, closing the window once more. 

“I hope I didn’t—”

“You’re fine. Now, what’s say we have a cuppa and I’ll let you have some of these snickerdoodles Pats whipped up this morning yeah?”

Shelagh looked around bashfully for a moment before saying, “Oh, go on then!”

  
  


-

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the filthy stop out,” jeered Valerie from the counter as Trixie made her way through the front door. Lucille trickled in behind her. “And Nurse Anderson, always good to see you, thank you for bringing my sister home.”

“It was no problem, Valerie.”

“Forgive me for having friends outside of you two,” Trixie smirked as she passed through to the kitchen. “It was late after we got back from the cinema, Barbara was kind enough to offer me hers and Lucille’s sofa.”

“Yes, and  _ I  _ nearly had a heart attack when I went for my breakfast this morning,” Lucille chuckled, leaning on the counter in front of Valerie. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Lucille raised an eyebrow, “Are you okay, killer?”

Val winked, “All the better for seeing you, darlin’.”

“Charmer.”

“You off to work?” Val leaned back in her chair, nodding to Lucille’s scrubs. 

“Yes, I’m here to pick up something for lunch, actually. And drop Trixie off,” Lucille said. She dropped her gaze to the display trays next to Valerie, surveying. 

“And…?”

Lucille frowned, “And?”

Val cleared her throat, pointing to herself. 

“Oh. Yes. And to see you of course,” Lucille laughed. “Though I would have thought that was obvious, what with your intuition and all.”

“Just making sure,” Val said. “What are you doing tonight? Me, Patsy and Delia were thinking of going to The Black Sail for a couple after we shut.”

Lucille smiled then shook her head, “I would love to but I’m on the ward until midnight and I have a mother due today too.”

She seemed devastated. Val took that as a positive. 

“Some other time then?” She offered. 

“Of course,” Lucille inhaled sharply and turned her attention back to the pastries. “Now what would you recommend?”

-

“But  _ did  _ you have fun?” Patsy asked around a cheese and pickle sandwich. 

Val watched her eat with nothing short of a grimace. She’d added mayonnaise and chilli flakes. 

Truly revolting. 

Trixie rolled her eyes and sipped her cappuccino, “Yes, Patsy, Barbara and I had fun at the cinema.  _ Little Women  _ was good if not ostensibly soft.”

“I told you that you should have seen  _ Parasite _ instead,” Patsy replied. “As much as I do loathe the art house movies Deels drags me to, I’ll admit that one was stellar.”

“Would it constitute as an ‘art house’ film? Or are you just labelling it that way because it’s foreign?” Trixie smirked over her coffee. 

Patsy narrowed her eyes, “You and Valerie have the same avoidant personality.”

Valerie threw a bread roll at her head, “Stop changing the subject.”

Trixie sighed and set the cup down, “She’s lovely. She...reminds me of Cynthia. You know as much as I love you two, and Delia of course, I feel like I’ve been...Well, it’s nice to have a friend who I don’t share a bathroom with, I’ll say that.”

Patsy’s eyes found Valerie’s with an arched eyebrow to boot. 

“Ask her,” Valerie mouthed. 

Patsy turned back to Trixie, “Have you...spoken much about…” She struggled with the word, searching for something subtle. Of course, she decided on, “ _ Boys _ ?” in a high pitched question that left little room for softness. 

Valerie shook her head, mouthing a ‘ _ what the fuck _ ?’ behind Trixie’s head.

Patsy shrugged innocently.

Trixie frowned at that, “Why would we talk about boys?”

Patsy cleared her throat, “Because, um,  _ because _ . Why would you--Um, you both... _ like them _ ?” She finished weakly.

Val threw her arms up in despair. 

Trixie swivelled in her chair, squinted her eyes, and then shot her gaze between her and Patsy. 

“Okay, out with it.”

_ Rats _ . 

“Out with...what?” Patsy forced a naive smile. 

It didn’t work.

Trixie crossed her arms right over her chest, “You two are hiding something from me.”

“I’ve never hidden anything from you in my life ever,” Valerie said quickly. “I mean, you’ve seen my--”

Trixie held up her hand to silence her, “I didn’t want to be reminded of your hemorrhoids, Valerie. Just tell me what’s going on!”

“You’ve had hemorrhoids, Val?” Patsy rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “Why didn’t I know this?”

“I’m susceptible to bowel problems, alright? My birth parents gave me that at least.”

It was Trixie’s turn to throw the bread roll, “ _ Now _ , who’s avoiding!”

“We’re certainly not,” Patsy said astutely. “I’m simply invested in Valerie’s rectum from a purely medical perspective.”

“Please stop talking about my rectum.”

“You brought it up.”

Trixie slammed the table, “Need I remind you who owns the building you're living in!”

Valerie smirked at that, “Do we need to call in the revolution, Miss Landlord Ma’am?”

A fist was shook in her face. Then Trixie turned to Patsy, “Pats,  _ please _ .”

Patsy appeared completely torn up inside at the plea. Valerie just kept shaking her head. 

Trixie once again looked between them.

“ _ Oh my god, _ ” She gasped, hand over her mouth in sheer shock.

Wait. 

Had she figured it out?

Really?

  
  


-

  
  


“You told her that  _ I had sex with Barbara _ !” Val spat as she took that shot of tequila. Grimacing at the taste and the sheer absurdity of what Trixie had suspected and Patsy had thought it was perfectly okay to agree with, she shook her head. 

Patsy wrinkled her nose, “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes!” Val barked. “Do you know how...There are so many holes in that lie that she’s probably already figured out it’s not true!”

“I mean,” Delia cocked her head, cradling the glass in her hands. “Are there really? That many holes? You’ve bedded half the town, I think it's entirely possible.”

Val squinted at her, “I haven’t bedded half the--”

Delia just stared at her.

“ _ Fine _ ,” Val sighed. She took a sip of her whiskey now. “But  _ still _ , I don’t lie to Trixie.”

“It hardly constitutes a lie if you vehemently disagreed with it,” Patsy offered weakly. “It’s her prerogative to ignore your dismissal. She’ll discover the truth soon enough, anyway.”

“I don’t want her to get sick again,” Valerie said firmly.

Delia squeezed her thigh, “She won’t. She’s got us.”

Val gave a small smile and patted her hand, “Right. Let’s celebrate.” She lifted her glass. “Deels, congrats on officially being a doctor!”

“Yes!” Patsy joined in, grinning proudly. “Although need I emphasise that it’s not--”

“A medical doctorate, I know, I know,” Delia shoved her girlfriend lightly. “I have you two to thank, and Trixie and Phyllis, of course. I couldn’t have gotten through this year without you all.”

They clinked their glasses and such was the dissolution of sobriety that evening.

  
  


-

  
  
  


“ _ Valerie, I need you to breathe with me, okay? Deep breaths. In and out.” _

_ Dark. Nothing but vast emptiness. Ringing. Ears muffled. Darkness is inescapable.  _

_ “Valerie, it’s me Doctor Mount - Patsy - you’re safe Valerie, you’re going to be okay. I’m here. We’re together. We’re going to be okay.” _

_ And then light. Fragmented. Eyes struggle open. Focus, focus now.  _

_ “I just need you to breathe. Calm, deep breaths, please, Valerie. You can do it.” _

_ Pats—Patsy’s face. Dirt. Red. Blood. Bright blue eyes. Safe.  _

_ “That’s it, in and out, come on, in and out,” Patsy exhaled with her, forced smile at her lips. Tattered. Dirt. Red. Red.  _

_ “Wh-...” Val couldn’t. She couldn’t. Speak. That’s it that’s the. Patsy.  _

_ “We ran over an IUD,” Patsy said softly. A shift. Her face caught pain. “We’re under the—I think, it’s the chassis. I can’t quite see.” _

_ Val coughed. Dust. Taste of metal. She glanced down. Stuck. Distorted steel over her stomach, hips, legs. Beside her, she looked, Patsy blocked in too. Her arm, above her head, tangled in a cluster of metal.  _

_ “Your—Your arm.” _

_ Patsy. Grit her teeth. “Don’t worry about that. You just focus on breathing.” _

_ “But—“ _

_ “I’m okay,” Patsy smiled. “I’m okay, I promise. And so are you. We’re going to be okay.” _

_ Steps. Far. Getting closer. Sand moving. Steps. Steps.  _

_ Patsy swallowed thick, smiled at Valerie, “We’re going to be—” _

_ Bang.  _

_ “PATSY!” _

_ Bang. _

Valerie woke with a start, gasping, panting. Her fist beat her chest to get it in quicker. Wide eyed. Her bedroom. Hempstead. Home. Safe. 

Safe. 

The door opened, Patsy’s head popped through the gap, “Val? You shouted my name, are—”

Val pushed a smile on her lips, “Bad dream. I’m alright.”

Patsy did  _ not _ seem convinced and pushed the door open further, stepping in. Delia, biting back a yawn, followed a moment later. They kept the door open and made their way to Val’s bed. Pats dropping down beside her, and Deels next to Patsy. 

“Mate, seriously, I’m—”

“No arguments,” Delia said, firm. 

Patsy’s arm wrapped around Val’s waist, “I told you not to drink whiskey - gives you nightmares.”

“Yeah, well rum makes me horny and I knew I was going home alone.”

“Wine’s what makes Pats horny,” Delia supplied, her face already hidden in the back of Patsy’s neck. 

Val grumbled, “Please don’t have sex in my bed.”

“That was a one time thing,” Patsy mumbled, delirious. Soon, she was sleeping once more. 

Val squinted, “I hate you two.”

Delia let out a snore in response. 

Rolling her eyes, Val tried to wiggle from Patsy’s grip but  _ Jesus Christ  _ was she strong. She heaved a sigh and reached for her phone. 

Still shaken from her dream - although recurring it was as haunting as ever - she distracted herself with catching up on various social media. 

Her thumb stilled as she refreshed Instagram. 

Magda had posted a new photograph. Holding Phillip on her lap, he was getting big now, with blue and white balloons around her. His birthday. Six years old. His smile was still that same dimples grin he’d had as a baby. Eyes bright blue. And his hair, a messy mop of brunette. 

Val squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the phone tightly. 

_ This is why you don’t follow your ex on Instagram, Val _ , she could hear Trixie say. 

_ Bloody hell.  _

Valerie shook her head, rubbing her eyes, and returned to her phone. Almost naturally, she opened her messages. A growing eighteen unanswered messages from Magda. Her thumb lingered over it - seeing a preview of the most recent message. 

_ We missed you today. He asked where— _

She clicked Lucille’s name. 

On her nightstand, the ten pound note had sat for over a week now. One day. Maybe. 

  
  


**Valerie (04:11):** I know it’s late

**Valerie (04:11):** But if you’re up that’d be cool

**Lucille (04:12):** Well, I guess I’m cool. Are you okay?

**Valerie (04:12):** Can I call?

**Lucille (04:13):** Always. 

Val swallowed at that. With a firm twist, she escaped Patsy’s clutches and made her way out of her room, ensuring to grab her favourite baggy jumper. 

She made her way quickly across the living room, tugging her jumper on. Nearly went flying over something - Delia’s bra - but got to the balcony scott free. 

Sliding the door shut, heart thudding, Val dialled Lucille. 

“Isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” came a sleepy, but happy sigh. 

Valerie steadied herself and sat down.

“Why are you even awake?” Val asked, calm. 

A yawn came through the phone, “Well, that mother I was telling you about this morning? A bouncing little boy at two am. And then when I got into bed I...had a feeling. So I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“What kind of feeling?”

There was a pause.

“Similar to a feeling I get when I suspect one of my mothers may go into labour early or unexpectedly,” Lucille explained softly. “A feeling that someone is going to need me.”

Well  _ shit.  _

“You’re mystic, Nurse Anderson,” Valerie shook her head in awe.

“Hardly,” Lucille laughed. “Just fine tuned intuition after years of being disturbed by labouring mothers.”

Val chuckled too. 

A pleasant silence fell between them. 

She cradled the phone closer, “Are we friends?”

“Valerie…”

“Or-Or are we... _ could _ we be more?” Val rubbed the back of her neck, finding herself holding her breath behind her teeth. As Lucille sounded to respond, she carried on, “‘cause I really need to talk to someone and I know Barbara said I could call her but she’s…” Val shook her head, despite Lucille obviously not being able to see. “I just...If we’re friends I can talk to you. If we could be more, I can’t.”

“Valerie, are you safe?”

Wha…? Oh. 

Val nodded, “Yes. I’m—I wouldn’t. Um. I wouldn’t do  _ that _ .”

“Good. Because there are so many people who care about you Val.”

“I know, Lu, thank...thank you.”

There was another long pause, the sound of shifting coming through the speaker. Lucile was moving about her house. 

“Forgive the pause, I’m just brewing tea,” She cooed, tone light and gentle. Lucille exhaled. “Why would not share with me,” she asked, “if we were to be more than friends?”

Val squeezed the phone tight, “Because I’m afraid it’d scare you away. I want you to know the good bits first, not the bad bits.”

“I think we passed that Val - you said you love me during our first time,” Lucille smirked, joking. 

“Technically  _ not _ our first time, I didn’t even get your knickers off,” Val grumbled, teeth pulling on a hangnail. Lucille’s breath hitched. Valerie sighed, “Sorry.”

“I suppose you’re right though.”

Val didn’t reply, stared blankly out to the sky. 

Lucille sighed, “I would like to take you on a date. I’ve already planned most of it, I was going to ask you tomorrow actually - I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the fundraiser. I thought of asking you then but I didn’t want to overwhelm you after the day you’d had.”

“I’m always overwhelmed around you, darlin’,” Val replied honestly. She wiped her eyes. “You planned a date?”

“Yes. I can cancel it, if you’d rather me be a friend right now.” Lucille said. “But whatever it is, Valerie, you won’t scare me off. I’m quite taken with you.”

Val bit her lip, “Don't cancel. I...Just talk to me? That...That’s what I need right now.”

“Valerie…”

The tone was unsure. Val wagered Lucille didn’t know if she should let it by. A pregnant pause filled the conversation. 

“What was like growing up where you did?” Val decided to ask, directing the talk.

Lucille mused for a moment, “Fine. Wonderful sometimes, other times less so. But Valerie I want you to—” and then she halted herself, as she clocked what Val was doing. 

(At a young age Valerie mastered the art of talking around herself by asking about other people. She’d drop tidbits in, anecdotes, to their stories and that’s how she’d reveal herself. 

Trixie said she was selfless, always putting others first. 

Patsy said she had an avoidant personality as a result of being completely ignored for the first few years of her life. 

Phyllis would always sit her down and they’d stare in a deadlock until she finally said her feelings).

Lucille carried on, words evidently chosen very carefully, “There wasn’t a moment that I didn’t feel loved all my childhood. I told you about our big house, big family. My father insisted on housing the people who worked for us too, and their families. I don’t think I remember a time I was ever alone.”

“That’s nice,” Val grinned, caught up in imagining a younger Lucille running around the orchard, getting lost for afternoons on end, surrounded by friends and family. 

Lucille let out a little sigh, “It was.” Another pause, she sipped her tea. “My father’s life’s work. And I was supposed to inherit it.”

“But the call of nursing was too strong to ignore?” Val jokes lightly. 

Lucille didn’t reciprocate the humour, supplying another sigh in response, “That’s what I usually tell people, yes.”

Oh. 

Val leaned forward, “But?”

“I had to leave the country,” Lucille said frankly. “There was no way for me to stay there so I came to England after high school. Left my mother a letter, never received one in return.”

Shit. 

“Um,” Valerie whispered. “Wh...Why?”

“I thought it would have been obvious,” Lucille replied, teasing. But the lightness was missing. “When did you know you were gay, Valerie?”

Val frowned. She’d been asked that a lot in life; usually by bi-curious women on their first jaunt out to The Black Sail, or troubled acquaintances. There was that time with the soldier boys when they were trying to undermine her. 

(They were silenced with a sharp hiss of ‘none of your bloody business’ from Patsy)

She never really had a concrete answer. It was just one of those things she always knew. Never figured there was another way she could have been. Mum and Phyllis never pushed boys or anything like that. They pretty much just let them vibe with whoever they wanted. 

“Never crushed on a boy, you know how it is,” was all she could think to say. 

Truly a maestro of words. 

“I wish,” Lucille chuckled dryly. “I’ve had a few boyfriends, and I loved them. What was it like when you came out?”

“Well, you know what they say about Brighton,” Val shrugged. “Mum and Phyllis had it clocked since they found me, I reckon. I was never afraid to tell them, or Trix. We, um, there are worse things in the world than love.”

“That’s…Yes.” Lucille exhaled, smiling. She didn’t finish, she didn't need to. 

Hearing the sounds of her tidying away, Valerie cast a gaze to the clock tower at the library. Five am. Jesus. 

Val dropped her eyes to the empty street below, “Lu?”

“Mm?”

“How quick can you cycle to the bakery?” Val asked, then shook her head. “Actually, no, remind me of your address, I’ll come pick you up.”

“Precious, it’s five in the morning.”

Pet name. That was new. 

“Exactly, I’ll be quick.”

  
  


-

  
  


In a haphazard sort of way, Valerie set the picnic blanket down at the cusp of the forest before dropping on it. Lucille joined her, clutching her flask tightly. The trees swayed behind them in the midsommar breeze.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Valerie said. She found herself picking at her hands again.

Lucille gave her a stare. She was in thrown on sweats, hair still wrapped, and looked as close to exhausted as Val had ever seen a woman look. 

“I’m certain there’s still the smell of amniotic fluid on me.”

“Well the daisies here are doing a good of hiding it,” Val leaned back, resting on her elbows. “Won’t be long, then I’ll make sure you get to bed, alright?”

Lucille laughed and lay down beside her, “You really brought me to see the sunrise?”

“Hasn't happened yet,” Val looked up. “I like the bit right before, when the sky is pink and purple. I think we’re so used to seeing it blue, black, even tinted orange. But we hardly ever get enough time to see it pink and purple. It’s a treat. It’s something else. Everything looks different in pink and purple.”

“I suppose,” Lucille cast her eyes up too, admiring the sky as Valerie described. She moved closer. Her head resting on Valerie’s shoulder. 

Val moved then too, laying down fully so Lucille could curl into her side like the most bloody natural thing out there. 

“I was never one for watching the sunrise as a kid,” Valerie said quietly. “More of a sunset girl, night owl. Things came alive at night. What was not seen or heard throughout the day suddenly had the volume of a show choir.”

Lucille wrapped an arm around her waist, tilting her head to watch as she spoke. 

It gave her the courage, really. Well, it was either that or tiredness. Regardless, she carried on:

“It took two sunrises til they found us, the recovery team. We’d gone up in a pretty vast area so it took them a while to locate us.” She let out a long, shaky breath. “It was night when it happened, came to just before sunrise. I thought for certain that they’d find us before sunset that day. They didn’t.

“It was really cold, so cold I couldn’t sleep. Pats had been in and out all day - the pain from her hand knocking her out. I stayed awake til the purple sky, heard footsteps. Thought it was enemy soldiers, that we were done for. But it wasn’t. Thankfully.” 

Lucille had moved now, sitting up a touch more to properly observe Valerie’s face as she spoke. Val just kept her eyes fixed on the sky. 

“I keep having dreams that it was. Enemy soldiers, I mean,” Val shrugged. “I don’t know why suddenly they’ve picked up again. But every night I’m lying there in the sand with Patsy, I hear footsteps, and then-and then…She came in my room, her and Delia, when I woke up but I couldn’t-I can’t look at her for a while after…”

“Oh, Val,” Lucille reached down, stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry you had to—”

“‘s fine,” Val smiled at her, though she was fully aware it didn’t meet her eyes. She turned her head, pressed a kiss to Lucille’s palm. “I don’t usually...It’s hard for me to...But you...Thank you for listening.”

Lucille frowned. Moving her hand, she tucked a stray curl behind Valerie’s ear. “You’re special, Valerie, I wish you would see it.”

Valerie froze. 

_ Don’t listen to ‘em, you hear? You have a worth. You’re so special, Little Val, I wish you would see it.  _

Blimey she hadn’t heard that voice in her head in years. 

“Val?”

Valerie gazed back up to Lucille, blinking back into the moment. She reached up then, resting her palm on the thrum of Lucille’s pulse point. 

“Is this okay?” Fingers met the rogue curls at the nape of Lucille’s neck. 

Her breath hitched. Lucille nodded. 

“More than.”

Valerie swallowed, and then leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to Lucille’s cheek. Lucille’s eyes fluttered closed, her cheek warm to touch. She leaned into Valerie’s lips. 

Val pulled back after a moment. She lay back down, hanging an arm out for Lucille to rest against her side once more. 

She did. Knotting her fingers in Valerie’s hoody, pressed right close against her. Lucille nuzzled into Valerie’s neck before turning to look up at the sky. 

Val squeezed her tight as the sun broke free of the horizon, as orange painted the sky in preparation for a brand new day. And, in that moment, for the first time in a long time, Valerie felt peace. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay lovelies, this chapter once again got away from me. setting up some fun things for the future also special appearance from our good pal shelagh.   
> one day phyllis will be back from central america but that day is not today.  
> as always, I love reading ur comments, thank u to everyone who's out there reading this <3


	13. chapter thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> date date date date date

“Phyllis, what’s the Spanish for ‘learn to drive or get out of my way, you ignorant fuck’?”

“Irrelevant. We’re in England now, and need I remind you that swearing isn’t polite.

“You can speak Spanish in England.”

Phyllis clicked her tongue, “Don’t be facetious, Valerie. And anyway, you still haven’t answered my question about how the shop has been while I was away.”

Valerie, pulling up to a stop at a traffic light, turned to her aunt with a sharp jut of her chin, “And  _ you _ still haven’t answered  _ my  _ question about your Jamaican friend.”

“How is Nurse Anderson? Trixie mentioned over the telephone that you’d spent a fair bit of time with her lately, is it safe to say that things are as you younguns refer to it as ‘back on’?”

Lord, Phyllis really did raise her, didn’t she?

Val turned her attention back to the road, biting back the small smile tugging at her lips at the sheer mention of Lucille’s name. 

_ Ugh _ , she was so smitten. She would have slapped herself if she met her in the street.

“Gossiping isn’t a good look for you, Phyllis,” Val said curtly.

Before Phyllis could come up with a retort, Valerie blared the horn once more. 

“ _ Mate _ , fucking  _ indicate _ !” She yelled, throwing her arms up in frustration. 

“Hands on the wheel at all times, Valerie.”

Val rolled her eyes but did as Phyllis said, “Do you know when Patsy drives she uses her knees so she can hold a cup of tea?”

“Well I didn’t teach Patsy to drive, did I?” Phyllis retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Although I will be having words with her when I return, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure she’s shivering in her Oxfords,” Val grumbled. She leaned back in her seat, as they trundled out of Heathrow’s terminal. A happy sigh escaped her lips, “I’m seeing Lu tonight.”

Phyllis took pause for a moment, a small smirk tugging at her lips, “So she’s Lu now?”

Valerie spared her a look.

Phyllis just wiggled in her seat, “I shan’t ask too many questions, you’re entitled to your privacy, but I am awfully glad you’re giving it a go again. I held some worry that the whole palava with Magda had driven you off course. You know I’ve no regret with my life, Valerie, none at all; but the life of a spinster is not for you.”

Valerie nodded, smiling lightly, “I don’t know, you know, I reckon I could do what you do. Travel, live my own life with no commitments to anyone but myself. Besides maybe Trixie’s kids, of course.”

“No, you’re a family woman,” Phyllis said, grinning. “You had a wedding book just like Trixie, I remember it well.”

“That was a phase,” Valerie retorted lightly. 

A quiet silence permeated the car for a long while as they slowly but surely escaped the terminal. 

Valerie expelled a heaved sigh, “Magda keeps texting me.”

“You can simply block her telephone number.”

“It’s not  _ that _ simple,” Valerie shrugged. “She was an important part of my life.”

“Need I remind you of the past tense definition of the word ‘was’,” Phyllis snarked back. “You’ve nothing tying you to her besides your own feelings, kid; it’s doing you no good to keep them in a reachable distance. 

“Phyllis--”

“How do you suppose you’re to develop your relationship with Nurse Anderson if you continue your investment in Magda? You’re not two different people, you cannot split your feelings between them.”

Valerie wrinkled her nose, “I don’t  _ have feelings _ for Magda, she’s just...hard to remove.”

“Understandable, and that little boy too I bet,” Phyllis said, gently now. “But you need to think of the future now, of which I’m aware is very difficult for you. It always has been -- your mother used to worry, she didn’t know how to help you find your way. You’re on track now, lass, don’t veer off course once more.”

There was no response Valerie could come up with, Phyllis’ words having given her the advice she needed (not that it was entirely wanted, of course). 

“There’s a new service station two miles out, should we try it?”

Phyllis beamed, “Need you ask?”

  
  
  


-

  
  


“Why am  _ I  _ the one who always ends up in the blasted  _ donkey ears _ ?”

“Long face,” Valerie smirked. She shoved a cup in Patsy’s face. “Try this.”

With a hesitation procured after years of knowing Valerie, Patsy reached for the cup only to be slapped on the arm by Trixie. 

“You must keep absolutely still - an entire afternoon’s work is hanging in the balance.”

Patsy huffed, “You’re taking advantage of my good heart.”

“Quite.”

Valerie handed Patsy the cup ever so gently, careful not to knock her at all. 

“What is this?” She sniffed, wary. 

“Sweet dirty chai - I tweaked a recipe I found online, think it’ll go good with the breakfast pastries,” Val supplied this offhandedly as she leaned back against the counter. 

Patsy squinted. Trixie stopped her work to lean and raise an eyebrow. 

“Weren’t you against learning any of this stuff not even a month ago?”

“Yes, I seem to recall a certain reluctance when I informed you of the machine,” Trixie gave a smirk, then returned to Patsy’s head. “Change of heart?”

“I realised it's like cooking but with, you know, liquids. It’s fun,” Valerie shrugged. 

“Wouldn’t happen to be Lucille’s preferred drink would it?” Trixie asked innocently. 

Val rolled her eyes, “Not everything I do is to impress a woman, you know? I like making new flavour combinations.” 

Trixie didn’t seem convinced. 

“Besides, Lu likes a simple cappuccino. Extra chocolate on top.”

Patsy brought the cup to her lips, savouring the taste for a few moments. 

She frowned, “Is that caramel?”

“Kinda,” Valerie nodded, holding up a little bottle. “Made this last night. Cinnamon dolcé syrup - cinnamon infused with caramel.”

Patsy licked her lips, “That’s  _ good _ , that’s  _ really good _ .”

“You’re not just saying that because they fed you chai in the police station as a kid, right?”

“Val—”

“That was apple juice,” Patsy deadpanned. She took another sip. “Anyway, this is good. Yes. Good.”

“Could have used more adverbs that, Pats.”

Patsy stuck her tongue, turning her head slightly only to let out the most pained gasp Val had heard her emit, “ _ OW!  _ Are you  _ trying _ to give me a lobotomy?”

“I told you not to move,” was Trixie’s response. 

“Probably do with one to be fair,” Val shrugged. 

Patsy rolled her eyes, “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere that isn’t here? It’s not as though you’ve been going on about this date for a week and a half.”

Following the sunrise, Lucille had called Valerie after a good sleep to ask her out, officially, on another date. Val had hastened to accept but they’d had to hold off as Lucille’s roster grew. They texted most days though, Val could picture Lucille under the desk at the nurse’s station or in the supply cupboard discreetly responding to her updates of the day's antics. Lu had her own, of course, Barbara was always quite ridiculous and the mothers and patients they’d both deal with on a day to day supplied more than their fair share of stories. 

Lucille would send her a selfie, occasionally, at her dining table with a cup of coffee at three in the morning or one of her having just dropped back into bed at eight pm. Val saved them, replied with her own or unflattering ones of Pats and Deels. 

(She’d been trying for ten years now to get a bad photo of Trixie and it simply wasn’t possible.)

She knew, in her heart of hearts, that she’d been relentlessly bothersome with her continued chatter about it. But she was excited! This was a second chance date with Lucille. 

And she was absolutely not going to ruin it this time. With love declarations or anything like that. 

In fact, Val had insisted to Patsy and Trixie’s raised eyebrows, she wasn’t even going to home with Lu this time. Nope. She was going to keep it cool, calm and collected. Definitely. 

“Lu’s picking me up at seven,” Val answered, grinning. “You’re stuck with me for a bit longer.”

“It’s all so romantic, first steps of courting,” Trixie lamented, affixing more pins to the ears on Patsy’s head. 

“I hated it,” Patsy said honestly. “Getting to know someone? Having to tell them...personal things? Truly my  _ worst _ nightmare.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t tell Delia anything personal for the first six months of your relationship,” Valerie tapped her chin. 

“Oh gosh, remember the argument when she found out you’d somehow managed to  _ not  _ mention your childhood in Eastern Asia?” Trixie shook her head in the same disbelief she’d had at the time. “I really don’t know how she’s put up with you so long.”

“I had to be certain I could trust her,” Patsy sighed lamely. “Which, yes I should have figured  _ that  _ out by the sixth month mark but...I still struggle to believe you both divulge your histories in those early days.”

Val frowned in thought, “Well, Magda was a mate from the get-go really so I didn’t need to tell her much. Told Lu about the whole found family thing on our first date, told her about the bomb too.”

“Yes, and I took about, oh, eight dates maybe? To tell Tom about my birth father,” Trixie added. “But then mum and Phyllis were never ones to encourage repression like those Catholic nuns at your boarding school, Pats.”

Patsy chuckled dryly, “Think my journey to lesbianism would have been much easier if Phyllis had been around when I was younger.”

“Try keeping anything from her -impossible!” Val said. “Remember the story about Trixie skiving? Like a bloodhound for impropriety, she is.”

“I can still hear the shouting,” Trixie giggled. “Although your sexual preference was hardly a secret, Valerie - you had just as many girlfriends as I had boyfriends. And you were very obvious about it.”

Valerie just tossed the nearest object at her, which happened to be a croissant. 

Trixie moved behind Patsy, the offending pastry smacking the other woman clean in the face, leaving a streak of chocolate at her cheek. 

Patsy gaped, “I’m going to  _ choke _ you, Dyer!” 

Ignoring Trixie’s out cries about the ears, Patsy slammed the cup down on the counter and charged after Valerie who’d leaped over the counter and ran out into the main lobby. She grabbed a broom as a weapon, pointing it at an attacking Patsy. Patsy, obviously, simply gripped the end of the boom and tugged Valerie closer, grappling for her throat. 

“This is entirely uncouth!” Trixie called from the till, rolling her eyes. She meandered around, ignoring the palava, to take a cigarette at the front door. 

Val and Patsy dissolved into some sort of play fight in the middle of the bakery, laughing in that strange way. 

Not too long later did the sound of bicycle bell chime as Barbara made her way down the steep hill of the street before her. Trixie beamed at this, hastily stubbing out her cigarette, and giving the nurse a quick wave. 

“Hello!” Barbara shouted, dismounting from her bike as she pulled to a stop at the bakery. “Hi, Trixie.”

“Hello, Barbara, to what do I owe the pleasure on this quiet Wednesday afternoon?”

Barbara set her bike at the window, “Just a quick one I’m afraid; I’m here to see Valerie.”

Valerie and Patsy had halted their battle at the sing-song tone of Barbara’s arrival. They both stood, panting, and Valerie had ended up with peanut butter on her cheek too. 

Trixie frowned and welcomed Barbara inside, quickly retiring to her chair behind the counter. 

“Hiya, Babs,” Patsy grinned. She smacked Val on the shoulder and sauntered away. 

“What can I do for ya, Nurse?” Valerie asked, rubbing her cheek. 

“You missed—Oh, there,” Barbara wiped the remaining peanut butter from her cheek. “I wanted to speak to you actually. Privately. If that’s okay?”

Val bobbed her head, “Sure, I think Trix and Pats can manage without me.” She smirked. 

Soon, she was pushing a freshly brewed Earl Grey in front of Barbara at their dining table upstairs. 

“What’s up, chick?” 

“Well, firstly,” Barbara smiled brightly. “I wanted to check in with you, see how you are. Emotionally, of course.”

“Tip top,” Val beamed back. “Honestly. I’m doing really, really good right now.”

“Oh, Valerie, that’s wonderful. Lucille mentioned that you’d had a good chat with her,” Barbara sipped her tea. She raised an eyebrow. “ _ And _ you have a date this evening.”

Val smirked, coy, “We do.” She cleared her throat. “What was the other thing?”

“Well,” Barbara started. 

And thus a top secret birthday extravaganza began to form. 

  
  


-

She hadn’t expected, literally not one moment, considered that they’d be going to Lucille’s house that evening. But as she turned down the familiar streets, made entirely too familiar from the trauma of her previous stint in the neighbourhood, Valerie turned to Lucille with a raised eyebrow. 

“Are you seducing me, chick?” She asked, smirking but her heart beating really rather loud in her ears. 

Lucille laughed, leaning in to nudge her slightly, “No. I thought since you cooked for me at our little library picnic last time, I could return the favour.” She looked up at her brightly. “Barbara is spending the night with her boyfriend so it’ll be just us — no expectations, like we agreed.”

Val bobbed her head. They had spoken about setting a pace to their second attempt at the whole dating thing. Both felt they knew the other deeper than last time, could understand responses and such. But they were to simply...go with the flow. See what came over them. 

(Val swore to keep all L-words firmly from her mind. And Lucille swore to be less daunted by Val’s prior dalliances.)

  
  


“So what are you making me?”

“An old recipe from a grandparent,” Lucille said, her arm continuing to brush Val’s, hands close enough to embrace. “I don’t have much time to cook so I find myself making basics, nothing extravagant. But after the display you made us, I thought I should consult something fancier.”

“Lu, you could make me eggs and ham and I’d eat it,” Val replied. “Granted, if they were green, I’d be a little apprehensive. You didn’t have to go through the fuss.”

“You deserve a little fuss,” Lucille beamed. 

Valerie stumbled at that, overwhelmed by the sudden compassion. She was used to being the giver— in her previous relationships, several week flings, whatever— she’d be the one adjusting herself to meet the needs of whoever she was with in such a way it was never returned. She would bend and twist for every pretty woman but they’d never give her much back. Even Magda, to an extent, in the early years. Val worshipped her; Magda would struggle to remember her birthday. 

They came to a stop at that pretty yellow door that Val finally had time to admire. The front porch was filled with potted plants that thrived and delicate furnishings that made it feel homely. This theme, once Lucille invited her in, continued inside. It was so welcoming and warm, with little eclectic touches, bright colours and life everywhere with these plants. 

Lucille dropped her keys in the little bowl on a side cabinet, took Valerie’s coat to hang, and wandered down the little hallway to the kitchen area. Val followed slowly, admiring every piece of the home. It was only small, one of those old terraced builds erected in the eighteen hundreds, but it was enough. Valerie found herself instantly in love with every little aspect. 

(Poor word choice. She greatly  _ admired _ every little aspect.)

Her nose tingled with a keen drive as she stepped closer to the kitchen, her stomach giving a lurch as she inhaled the scent

“Lu, that smells amazing,” Val said, grinning. 

The kitchen, living room, dining room was all open plan. Airy, still bright, and packed with bookcases and cabinets, it calmed Val, made her feel safe. 

“And this house is...I think I’m going to have to start coming here more,” She perched at the breakfast bar, on one of the bar stools. Chin resting on the heel of her hand, she observes Lucille’s cooking. 

“Fortunately Barbara and I share design tastes,” Lucille threw over from where she was stirring the contents of a large pot. A rice cooker whirred next to the oven. “And your little flat is cute too, it could do with more plants though.”

Valerie chuckled, “Sister Monica Joan keeps bringing ‘em but Pats and Trix can’t keep ‘em alive for a dime. Besides, there’s hardly enough space with Patsy and Delia living in the sitting room, health and safety hazard that.”

“I’m sorry if it’s a personal question but why  _ didn’t  _ you pick a three bedroom place?”

“Well, Patsy was never supposed to stay. We went back to my childhood home, where Trixie was living, in Brighton, once we were discharged. Kept swearing she was going to leave soon. When we were looking for a nice place to live, we got Pats to drop the grain of rice because at least that way it’d be like she was with us. Insisted she was only going to help us move then she was going back to Hong Kong. Booked her flight and everything. It was a few weeks away so she pitched up on our sofa bed. Ended up having a charge of heart and didn’t turn up for her flight. We got settled really quickly and it’s not like Pats had much stuff anyway so that just became our arrangement. It’s good, if a little cramped sometimes but...I don’t like to feel lonely so I always know her and Trix are gonna be around. And Delia now too. Until they start actually looking for their own place.”

Lucille placed the lid back on the pot, moving along a little bit to start chopping up a lime, and coriander. 

“That’s sweet,” She said softly. “Sometimes even with Barbara this place can seem too quiet.”

“You can loan my lesbians if you’d like, Delia will do sinful things in shared places but Patsy is a dab hand at cleaning - she has everything ship-shape and Bristol fashion before you can even say bleach.”

Lucille laughed, “I'll have to think about it.”

Val stood then, moving around the breakfast bar but was halted by a threatening knife jabbed in her direction. 

“I just want to see!”

“You can sit down and wait,” Lucille said, stern

“But—”

“Valerie.”

Valerie heaved a dramatic sigh and returned to the bar stool, “Will you at least tell me what we’re having?”

Lucille turned back to her chopping, “Chicken and sausage gumbo. With lime and coriander rice.”

Raising the lid from the rice cooker, Lucille deposited the lime and coriander, stirring it quickly. Then she moved to begin dishing it up. 

“I’ve not had gumbo in years,” Val licked her lips. “Last time was when mum went through her creole cooking phase when we were teenagers.”

“Your mother had a creole cooking phase?” Lucille asked, intrigued. 

“Mhmm. She’d go through these phases every six months were all she’d make was food from a certain country,” Val said. “Usually would coincide with where we went on holiday.”

Lucille sent her a warm smile at that, nodding to the table behind her, “Would you mind taking the bowls over?”

“Oh, now I can look?” Valerie teased as she stood once more to take the bowls from Lucille. 

“Incorrigible,” Lucille smirked back. 

She opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of chilled wine and, oddly, a carton of milk. Val queried this with raised eyebrows. 

“Just in case,” Lu replied. 

“I can handle a little heat, alright?” She said, joking defensive, as she sat down. 

Lucille poured out the wine, “This is hardly as fancy as the champagne you brought me but—”

“Entirely absconded. Perk of sharing a flat with a rich man’s daughter,” Val winked. “I’m partial to the five to ten pound range at Tesco.”

“I can get on board with that.”

Val couldn’t refrain herself much longer and delved into the meal in front of her. It took her right back to being fifteen, of her mum shovelling her and Trixie severely spicy food each night. It was warming, literally and figuratively, blooming a sensation in her chest that made her feel held. It was furthered by the sneaking glances Lucille kept sending her way. 

Every part of the night thus far had felt like...well, it felt like home. 

She told Lucille in lesser terms. Complimented the food right up until the last bite. Val leaned back in her chair, sipping her wine. 

“You’re mythic, Lu, seriously. Is there anything you  _ can’t  _ do?” 

Lucille flushed, “You're a flatterer; thank you.”

“Calling a spade a spade, darlin’,” Valerie smiled.

“So you nomads travelled a lot growing up?” Lucille queried, referring back of course to their earlier conversation. 

“Least once a year. Mum and Phyllis always insisted on making sure we got to experience different cultures and customs, give us a rounded experience. Usually we’d end up in really weird places, like tiny villages you’d never heard of, and doing something worthwhile. As grateful as I am, would have liked a relaxing beachside holiday  _ at least once _ .”

“No rest for the wicked,” Lucille smirked, her foot reaching to Val’s knee under the table and nudging. “That sounds lovely though; the most exciting place I ever went to was my yearly trip to see an aunt in Florida.”

“You  _ did _ grow up in an Oceanside paradise though.”

“With a hurricane season,” Lucille chuckled pointedly. “They never put that on the holiday pamphlets.”

“Did I tell you that Phyllis went to your orchard? Well, your family’s?”

“No!” Lucille gasped, eyes wide. “How did you fail to mention that until now?!”

“Completely slipped my mind, to be honest, I was more concerned with her sudden involvement with a man with an axe that she won’t tell me anything about,” Val fumbled with her phone, hastily sliding past another message from Magda and opening her text thread with Phyllis. She turned her phone to Lucille. “She did that picking experience, looked like she had a right old ball.”

Lucille appraised the photographs quickly, circling the stem of her wine glass with her fingers as she let out a strained sort of hum. 

_ Oh shit, Val, you  _ idiot. 

“Oh, Lu, I didn’t mean to—” She shoved her phone away, “Do you...Do you miss it?”

“It’s fine, I still have some...correspondents back there that keep me aware of things,” Lucille drained her glass, pouring a little more. 

Valerie observed her for a moment before she pulled her chair closer to Lucille, “Did they really just…?”

Lucille nodded, “I knew who I was,  _ how _ I was, and it wasn’t something I could ignore no matter how hard I tried. I had to leave, but I couldn’t go without giving my family the true reason. So, like I told you, I wrote them a letter. It was safer that way, I would be out of the country when they read it. I left a forwarding address to my university halls, and continued to send them an update every time I moved. It’s been several years now and I’ve yet to receive a reply.”

Valerie reached over, as though on instinct, to squeeze her hand, “I’m sorry that you have to go through that. No parent should—”

“Shall we move somewhere more comfortable?” Lucille interrupted, rising from her chair. 

Valerie paused for a moment, “Once you’ve let me do those dishes.”

“Valerie, you don’t—” 

“I want to,” Val smirked, gathering the bowls. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Lucille’s head as she made her way to the kitchen. 

Lucille followed her, insisting that she’d dry at least. They stood at the sink then, close enough to touch arms, as Valerie washed and Lucille dried up.

It was a pleasant sort of silence, the kind where certain electricity crackles between two people, snapping as they brushed against one another. 

After the last dish was deposited back into its rightful cupboard, Valerie scooped a pile of bubbles onto her finger, jamming it against Lucille’s nose as she turned to face her. 

“Val!” 

Lucille grabbed her arm, twisting her closer and, using her free hand, scooped up more bubbles and shoved them in her face. 

“ _ Agh!”  _ Val spat. 

She blindly grappled for Lucille, deciding her next plan of attack would be to tickle her. But Lucille was one step ahead and had secured both of Valerie’s wrists firmly in her grasp. She tugged her impossibly closer. 

Valerie blinked through the bubbles, eyes stinging, and gazed down to Lucille. 

_ God, _ she was beautiful. 

Lucille licked her lips, slowly, and dragged her eyes across Valerie’s face, settling on her lips.

“Could I…” She trailed off, eyebrows pinching as she pondered her unfinished question. 

“You can do anything you want, darlin’,” Valerie breathed out. 

In that moment she wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss her. But she would wait. Let Lucille set the pace. 

Lu stepped back, still holding onto Val but dropping her grip to her hands instead. She squeezed them, “Come sit with me?”

Dazed, Valerie nodded dumbly, allowing Lucille to lead her over to the large blue sofa. Sitting down beside her, so close in fact she was nearly in her lap, Val settled in to the cushions, leaving Lucille to play with her hand. Nails were scraped gently along her fingers, mapping out the pull of tendons from her palm. 

_ Christ.  _

“What do you do with the other girls?” Lucille asked quietly, utterly transfixed on her ministrations on Val’s hand. 

Valerie let out a shaking breath, “Lu…”

“I won’t get mad, I...understand, somewhat, now,” She gave Valerie that warm smile. “I’d just like to know.”

“Um, okay,” Valerie cleared her throat. “I meet them usually at the pub or sometimes on, uh, the apps. And I buy them a drink and just...happens naturally.”

Lucille picked Val’s hand up, slotting her fingers between her own, “When was the last time that you…?”

“The night you ordered the doughnuts, I…”

Here, Valerie faced a conundrum. Did she tell Lucille that she’d had dinner with ex that night? That, despite what she’d told Trix and Pats, they’d had a fumble for old times sake in the back of her car? That, since then, Magda continued to pester her on a reconvenience? 

Definitely, definitely not. 

“Deleted the apps, haven’t met anyone since,” Val quirked her lips in a soft smile. “Bartender at The Black Sail asked if there was something the matter when I went with Pats and Deels last week and sent drinks back that some girls ordered for me. Think she had a little heart attack when I told her I met someone.”

Lucille snapped her eyes up at that, a curious look about her face, “You have, have you?”

“Mhm. Think she could be a keeper,” Valerie winked. “She makes me feel like I could do anything, be anything. But, most importantly I reckon, she makes me feel safe.” 

Her hand was squeezed tightly by Lucille’s, a whispered  _ ‘come here’ _ passed between them and Lucille was pulling her closer. 

Valerie’s lips met hers in a way that was the most natural thing in the world. 

Hungrily, the same unchained passion Lucille had shown the first time they’d kissed dragged her in deeper. She’d freed her hand, instead her grip found purchase on her shirt. Valerie’s hands, one cupped Lucille’s neck, the other supporting her as she leaned down to kiss Lucille more. 

Soon they shifted, Lucille tugging Valerie on top of her, scratching her fingers around to run along her back. The sensation, though through the shirt, had Valerie shivering. 

They broke away, too soon for both of them, and exchanged panting breaths. Lucille’s eyes, Val noted, had blown wide, yearning. That same electricity from before snapped and crackled. It would be so easy, Valerie thought, to continue down that path. But it wasn’t the right time. Instead, she moved down, settling herself to the side of Lucille and resting her head on her chest. 

She pressed a kiss to her thrumming heart. 

Lucille let out a laugh, a hand coming to rest on Val’s back, the other playing with her hair. 

“You’re pretty Valerie,” Lucille brought her in closer. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” She looked up, resting her chin on Lucille’s breast. “Yes, very you. Very beautiful.”

Lucille shook her head, “Shall we watch a film?”

“Long as you’re not going to make me think too hard,” Val warned. “Don’t enjoy many a stressful brain function after eight pm.”

“I promise.”

Lucille managed to reach over to grab the remote, settling on something light in her Netflix watchlist. They stayed like that, Valerie curled into Lucille on the settee - save for the moment Lucille made a quick break to get the rest of that bottle of wine. 

Val tried her damnedest to stay tuned into the film that Lucille has very quickly become enamoured with, but the gentle stroking on her back, in her hair, and the relaxing beat of Lucille’s breathing had Valerie’s hold body singing a song of good fortune. How had she wound up in the arms of this most brilliant woman? 

As the credits rolled, Val, extremely unhappily, found herself untangling from Lucille and sitting up. It was beyond late and Lu had work the next day so she figured it best to take her leave. Lucille seemed distressed at that prospect too, they’d both clearly had a wonderful evening, but led Valerie to the door regardless. 

“Thank you for having me, cooking for me, generally thank you for being wonderful,” Val said, sheepishly, as she buttoned up her jacket. 

“Thank you for being such good company,” Lucille replied, brushing lint from Val’s jacket. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay walking home?”

“It’s only twenty minutes, I’ll manage. Besides, I  _ may _ know how to throw a coupl’a punches.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

Lucille rolled her eyes, “Text me when you get in. And I mean in, in your flat, not just to the street near your flat.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Valerie stepped out of the door as she barked this, but found herself yanked back in for a final, sweet kiss from Lucille. 

“Be safe, Valerie!”

What sheer utter bliss the evening had been.

-

Of course, nothing was ever bliss for as long as it should have been. 

Valerie drifted up the stairs in that mellow sort of way, hand trailing up the bannister gently. Muffled conversation flowed the door as she fiddled with her key, indicating the others had waited up for her. She grinned. 

However, it soon fell from her face as she took in the state of her living room. 

Trixie was by the window, looking out, smoking, shaking. Phyllis, she was sat on the sofa with Delia, rubbing her shoulder as she was brought in a tight embrace. Items were haphazardly thrown around the room, like it had been raided. 

Sergeant Woolf stood, and closed his notepad. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” He nodded, leaving past Valerie as he finished. 

The door closed behind her. 

“What’s…” Valerie frowned. “Where’s Patsy?”

Delia, well, she just started crying. 

Trixie turned into the room once more, she forced a smile, “Val! How was your—”

“Trix, where’s Patsy? Why were the police here?”

Trixie stubbed out her cigarette, “Patsy received a call. From Hong Kong. Not too soon after you left. She...She’s been missing ever since.”

Valerie stepped further in, “What do you mean  _ missing _ ? It’s only been a few—”

“She took a backpack,” Delia, throat dry, interrupted. “Things from her shoebox, her passport...left her phone and her medicine. She took my bike and....” 

“Pats wouldn’t—” Val shook her head, dropping onto the sofa next to Delia. “There’s nothing for her in Hong Kong, why would she—“

“The telephone call came through to the shop’s landline,” Phyllis said darkly. It was  _ not _ a tone Valerie had heard much before. “It was the authorities over there; luckily, they spoke English well enough to tell me the nature of the news they’d delivered Patsy.”

“They’re out,” Delia cried. “The bastards are out.”

Trixie lit up another cigarette. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay folks this chapter ended up being a monster and ive had to split it into several smaller ones.
> 
> hope u enjoyed!! phyllis is back patsy is missing and valerie and lucille are truly the softest


	14. chapter fourteen

Gooooooood morning Hempstead—

The radio was clicked off with a rather aggressive slam from Phyllis. The slap reverberated around the bakery despite the closure of the window. 

Valerie sat at the register, tapping a pencil on her chin and staring blankly at the orders she had up on the computer screen. The words had lost all meaning with how long she’d been emptily looking at them. They didn’t make sense. In fact, nothing did. 

Patsy had left. 

Literally, put everything important to her in that maroon kanken and left. No note, no message, no reason for any of it. Delia’s bike was left, securely locked, at the train station and the guard had sold a ticket to London to a tall angry red head. 

It’d been three weeks. 

Trixie’s birthday was fast approaching and Barbara had taken the reins and planned a whole dinner party for it. But Patsy was gone. Celebrations seemed pointless. Just like everything else. 

They kept muscling on, Phyllis full time and Trixie behind the window for the foreseeable. Delia powered through with the deliveries but hadn’t cracked a smile in forever. The customers were plentiful and Val served them happily, but it’d fall as soon as they turned away. The entire atmosphere had shifted, work was now a slog, her heart ached for her missing best friend. Being awake had become a wholly new struggle. 

Lucille has been nothing short of perfect about the whole thing. Valerie had disappeared to her bedroom after Phyllis filled her in on the finer details. She’d dragged open her wardrobe door and found herself sitting in it, underneath Patsy's hanging shirts, with her knees pulled tight into her chest. Barely breathing, a text from Lucille startled her back to reality. 

Lucille (01:19): Are you safe?

Val had bit her lip and called. She explained that she was safe but Patsy might not be. That she’d disappeared after hearing some very terrible people were released from prison. That she might already be on her way to Hong Kong or somewhere else but they didn’t know. She’d descended into a panic attack, grappling at the shirts above her. Lucille talked her down, got her calm enough. 

Then cycled over to the bakery just to hold her. 

She’d even spoken to Delia, calmed her down; spoke to Trixie and Phyllis and got them to open up about their fear and start processing it. Lucille was a miracle worker. 

She made them all tea and toast and ensured they all got into bed, had a good night's rest. Phyllis drove home once she’d stopped shaking, Delia cried on the pullout. And as much as laying next to Lucille was calming, Val found herself getting to Trixie’s bed that night. She clung to her sister for some sort of stagnancy. 

Lucille continued to check in each day, her and Valerie embarking on the occasional walk or picnic if the weather was nice. But Val just couldn’t get her heart into it. She felt missing, as though going through the motions was impossible without a limb, a vital organ. Patsy. 

She understood, Lucille, and she was kind. 

Valerie blinked and wiggled the mouse some more, bringing the computer out of its screensaver. Silently printing out the new orders, she stood from her chair and turned to the window, sliding it open. 

“Just a couple of sponge cakes, usual bread orders for this afternoon,” Valerie said, presenting the papers to Trixie. 

Trixie nodded, flicking through them. 

“Mrs Turner called again. Asking if we’d heard anything,” She sighed. “I know she means well but it…”

“I know,” Valerie mumbled. 

“I miss her.”

“Me too.”

Phyllis tossed her dough rather aggressively on the table, shaking her head rather vigorously. 

“I’ve a right mind to throttle that blasted girl when she shows up again,” Phyllis muttered, anger and sadness infringing on her tone. “She has no right making us worry like this, not after the last time.”

Apparently, through her adolescence, Patsy had made a habit of disappearing without telling anyone. ‘Course, nuns at a private boarding school in Barkshire hardly cared about it - it's not as if she could go far in the rolling hills of nothing. By the time she was an adult, she got so used to just vanishing occasionally but no one ever asked why so long as she did her university work, paid her bills, made her commitments. And Patsy always did. 

When she first lived with them, back down in Brighton, Valerie recalled that very early morning when she woke up to an empty bed. Figuring Pats was still on military time, she’d looked out the window expecting to see her mate doing her usual morning one-armed workout routine in the garden. She didn’t. Something unsettled her about the whole thing but Patsy was a grown woman and, well, she’d probably just gone to explore the town. 

She wasn’t home for lunch, or even dinner. Trixie had been close to calling the police, arguing that Patsy was unstable at the moment with adjusting back to being home and could end up in danger. Phyllis shared the sentiment and Valerie could only agree when the ten o’clock news came on and Patsy was still missing. 

Of course, she waltzed through the door carefree with an ice cream cone and a satchel thrown over her shoulder as soon as Trixie had put the phone down.

(She hastily called and apologised)

Patsy had been genuinely, genuinely, perturbed at the concern on her friends’ faces - absolutely unaware of any reason for worry. Val had tackled her in a hug, refusing to let go. 

She’d been on a jaunt to London, allegedly her father had sent some family possessions that had been stored in a safety deposit box at some obscure location on Bond Street. Patsy just went to get them. She finished her ice cream and produced a battered shoebox from her satchel - the contents weren’t shown but the truth was evident. 

After that fiasco, she’d been forcibly given a mobile phone and told to never disappear without at least leaving a note. 

It took her a while, but eventually she began to embrace having people who cared where she was. 

Val fondly remembered the morning Patsy had flown past them in the kitchen, got halfway out of the door before turning back and informing them she’d be late: there was a conference on obscure diseases she’d been dying to catch up at the University of Liverpool Tropical Medicine School. She even texted them when she arrived and when she was on her way home. 

It was a norm now, constant updates from Pats. When she’d started seeing Delia, she would always message if she was to stay in London or not. She’d even rigged up that find my friend app on her phone — just in case. 

Which is why Valerie couldn’t figure out why she’d go and do it again. It didn’t make sense. Had the news really shaken her that much?

Even Delia struggled to understand a reason. All she knew, which was only a fraction more than what the others had inferred, was that something happened in Hong Kong when Patsy was younger, some men had been arrested and Patsy’s father had shipped her to London to study. Infinite scenarios ranging from all sorts of severities could be conjured up but without Patsy to clarify, it was simply guess work. 

Phyllis kneaded the dough a touch too aggressively. 

“Have you heard at all from Sergeant Woolf?” Valerie asked, gently. 

The good police officer had been relentlessly helpful trying to trace their friend - usually, of course, they wouldn’t concern themselves with someone who’d left willing but Patsy’s distress signalled a sort of danger. It seemed the Hong Kong authorities didn’t share the sentiment.

Trixie shook her head, entirely immersed in decorating a wedding cake she’d decided would look good in the window display. 

(Wedding cake decoration was Trixie’s relaxation technique)

“No updates since she passed through customs; her father doesn’t live at the listed address anymore and there’s been no alerts on her bank card.”

“Ridiculous,” Phyllis huffed, now rolling out the dough. “It’s as though they haven’t put two and bloody two together - she could be--UGH!” 

She slammed the rolling pin down. It bounced off of the table and hit the floor with a bang. 

Val exhaled a heavy sigh, and made her way around to the kitchen. Trixie had pulled Phyllis into a hug and Val joined in. Valerie had only ever seen Phyllis cry three times in her life before then. The first was when Valerie was twelve years old and fell out of a tree, her arm snapping in such a grotesque sort of way -- Phyllis had cried because Valerie had cried, begging for the pain to stop. The second, well, that was when their mother died; Phyllis had waited for them to sleep before sitting on the step at their backdoor and unleashing relentless sobs. Val hadn’t been asleep, she didn’t sleep much then, and heard the sound coming up through the open window; she was quick to run downstairs and hold her aunt. And the third time, of course, was when she saw Trixie laying in that hospital bed after her stomach pump, tinged yellow and completely destroyed. 

No, Phyllis wasn’t one for overt displays of stress, very much a steel reinforced stiff-upper lip. But she cared deeply about her nieces, and Patsy had come to be considered as such. 

“I just want to know that she’s okay,” Phyllis grumbled from beneath Val and Trixie’s embrace. 

“We all do,” Valerie replied, tightening the hug insurmountably. 

  
  


-

“Valerie, are you sure you’re--We could ask them to pack this to go if you’d rather relax at my house? I’m sure Barbara won’t mind,” Lucille said this kindly but to Valerie, it sounded as though it was through a window, some sort of glass. 

Valerie squinted her eyes, looking down at her hands. A knife and fork in her fingers were just still, floating above her food but she hadn’t moved to try to take a bite. Lucille, meanwhile, was halfway through her meal. 

Hilda’s was a fine dining restaurant a little further out of town. Very fancy, very difficult to get reservations for. They’d actually done the wedding cake for the titular owner’s very wedding so Valerie had requested a return on the favour for this table. She had truly meant to treat Lucille, thank her for being so helpful over the past couple of weeks.

But her head was a complete and utter mess.

She set her cutlery down, “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t---I haven’t been the best company tonight. I’m ruining this, aren’t I?”

Lucille shook her head, smiling softly, “No, Valerie, your best friend is missing, I’d be more concerned if you were as vivacious as always.”

“Vivacious?” Valerie raised an eyebrow. 

“You have the energy of an excitable child sometimes,” Lucile smirked, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “It’s cute.”

Valerie found herself blushing too. She retrieved her cutlery and started picking at her food once more. 

“You really are an angel, Lu,” Valerie said, quiet. “I really don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would have figured it out,” Lucille replied. “I have every faith in your ability to face hardships and overcome them, Valerie.”

Lucille looked lovely, she really did, in a flowing floral patterned dress, and her most darling smile. The softness of her general appearance combined with her gentle encouragement and genuine care had Valerie close to tears. 

No, not close, actually in tears. She was so exhausted, so worried, so grateful all at once. A tear dropped to the plate. 

“Val?” Lucille’s voice broke through. 

She dropped her knife and fork once more, to press the heels of her hands into her eyes,willing the tears back. 

The scraping of a chair against the floor, Lucille’s arms around her, indistinct mumblings. 

“Let’s get you home, precious.”

  
  


-

  
  


Home was Lucille’s bed. Val couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the bakery knowing full well she’d breakdown at the little moments of Patsy around the place.

Passing her a glass of water, Lucille sat down on the bed beside her, resting her hands on Val’s leg. Reassuring. Warm. 

“I’m sorr—”

Lucille silenced her with a kiss, quick, to her lips. 

“I’ve lost count of how many times, I’ve told you not to apologise these past few weeks,” Lucille warned, lightly. 

“I ruined our date.”

“We’ll reschedule.”

“You’re too kind to me. I’m such a wreck—It’s not..We’re not doing this the normal way.”

Lucille shook her head, inching closer, “There's no normal way to have a relationship, Valerie, if there were whatever we’re doing probably would have remained illegitimate. You need kindness. And luckily, I have multitudes to spare.”

She really was too good for this world. 

“Lu…” Valerie exhaled. The glass of water was set down on the side table. Valerie reached for her. “I need—”

Lucille, she clearly sensed her intentions and caught Valerie’s hand in her own. 

“Not yet, not like this,” She smiles warmly. “Sex shouldn’t be about hiding or repressing feelings, honey, I want to help you recognise that.”

Honey.

Val swooned. 

The care really was intrinsic to her soul. 

Valerie shifted then, sitting up just a little more, to bring Lucille into her side. 

“Patsy will be home soon,” Lucille whispers, breath hot on Val’s neck. “I’ve every faith.”

Somewhere, Valerie did too. That was the thing, in her heart of hearts, Val knew Patsy well enough to know that she would endeavour to return as soon as her head was clear, when her affairs were in order. She couldn’t be without them, let alone Delia, just as they couldn’t be without her. The lack of communication was distressing but Val believed in Patsy. 

What troubled Valerie, what made her worry and panic, was that they didn’t know what had beckoned her away. 

Men released from prison? Connected to something in her youth? Surely, it would make more sense for Patsy to stay in England, stay safe. 

So why go?

Valerie’s phone chimed. 

Eagerly, she grappled for it. Lu sat up.

Could it be—

Magda. 

Valerie cleared the message and dropped back into the cushions. 

“Take it, it wasn’t Patsy?” Lucille settles beside her once more, holding her hip all calm. 

Val closed her eyes, she’d have to divulge this Magda thing eventually. But what could she say? Legally, she had a child with another woman but that woman had dragged her along then cut her off for a bit. Now she was back in her life and, after a quick shag in the back of her Toyota, wanted to be with her again. 

(I mean, Val knew she was good but…)

Valerie danced her fingers down Lucille’s back, “Just Delia letting me know she got my message. She says hi.”

“How is she?”

“Devastated, ten fold of what I’m feeling that’s for sure,” Valerie nudged her nose into Lucille’s curls. “Thank you.”

She felt Lucille smile against her skin, and tug her closer. 

“I really am quite taken with you, Val.”

The implication was clear, Valerie attempted to ignore it. She couldn’t ask Lucille that now, couldn’t become official until she had a moment of stillness. Too much was going on. She couldn’t have Lucille committing to it right now. It would do more harm than good. 

“You’ll be my date, won’t you?” Val diverted smoothly. “To Trixie’s birthday dinner tomorrow.”

Lucille hummed, “Barbara already invited me anyway but I’m certain I can pretend to be your plus one if it’ll make you happy.”

“Wonderful,” She leaned down to kiss Lu’s nose. 

Lucille wrinkled her nose and swatted her stomach, “Incorrigible.”

“Charming.”

Lucille couldn’t help but laugh at that. 

Valerie pulled her closer, holding her against her chest, as her breathing began to steady, her mind finally calming. 

Tomorrow would be a new day. Sure, Patsy would still be missing and they’d struggle through that. But it was her sister’s birthday celebration and Val would be damned if she didn’t make Trixie crack a smile on her special day. Barbara had taken care of most everything—it would be an understated, demure affair. Phyllis had even baked a cake. 

Yes, the dinner party would be a nice little break from everything. 

Funny how things never go to plan. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so large i had to cut it a bit—sorry if it feels a bit like filler.  
> the dinner party is certainly going to be something i tell ya  
> as always, comments are appreciated <3


	15. chapter fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> birthday cake

Valerie woke to a warmth beside her, and lips, full, kissing up her neck. She grinned, flexing her fingers on Lucille’s back and stretching her own. 

It was still dark out, the room cast black by moonlight’s shadows. 

A yawn tore from her mouth but was halted by Lucille’s lips finding hers. 

Hungry, that’s how Lucille kissed. 

She tugged on Val’s sweater, rolling them over so she was underneath. Pleased, she seemed, with Val’s weight on top of her. 

They didn’t progress much past kissing, eager hands clutching moments of skin before releasing and searching for more. 

Lucille released a sigh, her hand palming Val’s sweatpants for one tiny moment before she turned her head and dropped her arm. 

Val rested her forehead against Lu’s cheek, breathless. 

“You’re a deviant,” Lucille turned back to her, kissing Valerie’s wild hair with a gentleness. She scratched nails up her covered back. 

“And you’re the best alarm clock in the bloody world,” Valerie retorted lightly. She pressed her lips to Lucille’s chin. “Irresistible too.”

“Alright, precious, calm down,” Lucille pushed her, hard, so Valerie landed on her side next to her. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later but we both have work to get to.”

Valerie rolled further away, hiding her face in the pillow, “I don’t want to.”

“You’ve got many cakes to make—”

“I’m not actually allowed to  _ make _ them.”

“—and I’ve got babies to deliver.”

“Heroic,” Val tilted her head to gaze at Lucille’s wonderful face. 

Truly, a work of art. 

She couldn’t resist the urge to lean forward and press a kiss to that cluster of moles above her lip. So she did. 

Lucille smiled, “Maybe you  _ are _ a little charming. Now, you...stay here, I need to shower.”

A jolt shot through Val, clearly expressing on her face. 

“No. Just,” Lucille stood from the bed, stretching, looking ethereal. She leaned down to kiss Val’s cheek. “Think about it.”

_ Bloody hell. _

Lucille soon disappeared to the bathroom down the hall and Valerie’s thoughts steadily began to roam rampant. Which absolutely would not do. 

She stole a long sip of the warm water by the bed before standing up herself and truly admiring Lucille’s room. It’s not like she’d had the chance before, really. 

Lucille’s bedroom was neat, organised, overflowing with plants. The dresser in the corner had a vast mirror atop it with make up and jewellery all ordered and such. Her walls were blue with bright prints and photographs. Above the headboard, a vintage travel poster for Jamaica. 

Val ran her fingers along the dresser, admiring all the little rings and bracelets she found. They were just so... _ her _ that Valerie felt settled just looking at them. 

Lucille was delicate, easy, simple. 

Her eye caught an heirloom of sorts tucked behind bottles of perfume. A ring on a chain—it looked old, dusty, weathered. Must have been her great-grandmother’s, the one that lived to a great age, she recalled. 

Moving around the room, surveying each instance, Valerie admired the photographs on the wall. Early years, her and her parents; a smattering of high school aged snapshots. And then more recent ones of her and Barbara, unfamiliar others who Val rationalised as other nurses. There was a gap of later teenage years photographs.

Valerie moved on, running a thumb over the leaf one of one her plants. 

She really was a kind soul. 

“You won’t find any secrets,” Lucille’s voice drawled from behind her. 

Arms, damp and bare, wrapped around her waist—a kiss pressed to her neck. 

“I’m not lookin’ for any,” Val turned, sliding her own arms around Lucille’s waist. 

_ Good lord, the woman was in a towel.  _

“You’re warm,” Lucille nuzzled against her. 

“Yeah, well, you’re hot.”

“Smooth.”

Valerie cleared her throat, “The smoothest.”

Lucille kissed her, soft and sweet, squeezing her hips as she did so. 

“Go freshen up, we’ve got to leave soon.”

“But—”

She was silenced by a forceful smack. Valerie gaped down at a smirking Lucille. 

_ The bloody devil had smacked her arse. _

  
  


-

The day meandered on after Lu dropped her off at the bakery. Trix and Phyllis were already done with their orders, having prepared them mostly the day before. It was a slow, serving as and when, sort of day. 

Delia fell off her bike once more, Phyllis quick to patch up the graze on her knee. It didn’t appear to hurt her but, Val figured, nothing else could right now. 

Barbara had given them strict instructions to shut at exactly five thirty so she had time to set up downstairs; this entailed getting the food all ready and decorating aggressively. 

Trixie heaved a sigh as she surveyed herself in the mirror, running her hands over the sleek black dress. 

“I know Barbara’s intentions were set in stone before Patsy...but I don’t particularly feel like celebrating when my best friend is, well, not here.”

Delia, a whiskey in hand as she lounged on Trixie’s bed in her little blue dress, hummed in agreement. 

Valerie fiddled with her hair, straightening it had not turned out how she wanted so she was wrestling it into some sort of updo. 

“Me either but,” The hair tie snapped. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could choke,” Trixie offered, sitting down on the bed beside Delia and sipping her lemonade. “You used to do that often as a child, you’d shovel too much food in at once.”

“Needs must,” Val shrugged. 

She relented with her hair, choosing to flick it to the side in a messy, sort of rugged look. She dropped down to the bed too. 

“I almost feel as though I shouldn’t be here,” Delia remarked, absolutely honestly and looking down at her glass. She swirled the contents into a little vortex. 

“Well, that’s downright stupid,” Valerie replied. She stared her down sharply. “You’re not just Patsy’s girlfriend to us, Deels. You’re one of us.”

“If you want to be, of course, I know if I had the choice to spend less time with Val I would,” Trixie teased. 

But there was something off with her tone. 

Val filed  _ that _ away for later. 

Delia allowed a small smile to grace her lips, “I don’t...I don’t even know if...If she  _ is _ my girlfriend anymore.”

A sigh escaped her, Valerie leaned over to rub Delia’s shoulder, “She is. I know Pats. She’ll be missing you just as much, she...Has to run away sometimes.”

Trixie hummed coolly, interested in a loose thread of her blanket. 

Delia shook her head, “I don’t—I don’t understand  _ why _ . Why won’t she even call?”

“It’s hard to…” Val started, morose. She squeezed Delia’s shoulder. “Sometimes you have to. Because you can’t think with everything going on around you. Patsy will come home, Delia. I know she will.”

“I don’t even know if I can—”

“Don’t say it,” Trixie interrupted, suddenly and sharply. “Don’t say it because if you do, you can’t un-say it and that’ll be that. And if I know you, Delia, I know that you can do anything—no matter how hard it is.”

Delia gazed at Trixie for a long moment before nodding. 

“Wait ‘til you see her again, chick, then you see what needs doing.” 

The hug between the three of them was brief, unfortunately, for Valerie’s phone chimed with a new message. Despite knowing exactly who it would be from, Valerie found herself still hoping it to be Patsy. 

It wasn’t. 

“You should text her back, Val,” Delia remarked, leaning into her, resting her head on Val’s shoulder. 

Val shook her head, “And say what?”

“A few colourful embellishments of  _ leave me alone _ spring to mind,” Trixie said. 

“She’s right.”

“I’m always right,” Trixie smirked. “Besides, have you even told Lucille about her?”

Valerie put her phone down and rubbed her eyes, “Some. She knows she’s an ex.”

“Don’t you think you should tell her everything?” Delia queried. “If you’re serious about her, that is.”

“I am and I  _ will _ ,” Valerie sighed. “Eventually. I just need to figure out what’s going on there.”

“And you intend to do that how? By ignoring all of her messages?” Trixie snarked. “You’ve ignored sixty four messages, Valerie, I can see it right here.”

“I know!” Val groaned. “I know. Look, I’ll...Deal with it tomorrow. Let’s just have a good night tonight, yeah?”

Neither Trixie nor Delia looked overly convinced with that. 

  
  


-

  
  


Nomad’s Bakery had been truly transformed.

In the centre lobby, a long running table had been erected and carefully decorated with candles, ornaments, flowers and such. Each person was given a placard of their name in a designated seat.

Soft, classical jazz was playing. 

The lighting was muted, demure. 

Val hardly recognised the place as she took her seat to the right of Trixie, conveniently opposite Lucille. Barbara sat to Trixie’s left with Sisters Julienne and Monica Joan beside her. Phyllis took Valerie’s other side, Delia to the side of her. 

Lucille in the candlelight was truly a sight to behold. 

More so was the foot that ran a pattern along her calf under the table. 

The food was marvellous, Barbara truly had pulled it off quite extraordinary. And she was so fun too. They’d grown closer over the past weeks, Babs becoming a bit more than a regular as she checked in on Trixie and her almost as often as Lucille did. 

She was bloody hilarious, and charming, and her innocence was actually quite remarkable. 

Valerie found herself chatting enthusiastically with her and Lucille most of the meal. 

However, the only person who didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves, was the birthday girl herself. 

Trixie was stewing, Valerie could suss as much, and was seemingly growing deeper into her chair as the meal wore on. Something was on her mind, and it was bothering her excessively. 

Like that blasted hair tie upstairs, it seemed Trixie was getting ready to snap. 

“I don’t know, I still think I get the better cappuccinos from the Starbucks by the hospital,” Lucille teased, poking her tongue out between her teeth. 

Valerie rolled her eyes, “But you wouldn’t get my wonderful customer service—you’d get acne-ridden teens who can’t spell your name right.”

“Wonderful is subjective.”

Barbara, sipping her wine, shook her head, “I honestly think Valerie makes the best coffees I’ve ever had. I don’t know how, but she’s truly remarkable.”

“Thanks, Babs,” Val winked. 

“Of  _ course _ ,” Trixie laughed in a way that could only be described as sardonically. Valerie was grateful, she’d ensured with Barbara that Trixie was nowhere near the spirits. She continued this laugh, “ _ Of course _ , Barbara. After all, you’ve shagged my sister, why wouldn’t you think that?”

Val closed her eyes over.

_ Shit _ . 

There was the snap. 

Barbara gaped, rightfully so, caught as though a deer in two headlines. She blinked profusely between Valerie and Trixie.

“You...You cheated on Tom?” Lucille had to ask,  _ of course _ she had to ask. “With  _ Valerie _ ?” That intonation hurt. 

“I’ve never--I’m not,” Barbara shook her head in sheer disbelief. “I’ve never had  _ intercourse _ with Valerie and I’d  _ never _ cheat on Tom!”

Trixie cocked her head to the side, her glass of lemonade swinging precariously, “Tom? Tom is  _ your boyfriend _ ?”

“Yes. The curate,” Barbara said earnestly, obliviously. “We’ve been together for about almost a year now. I love him dearly.”

“The  _ curate _ ?!” Trixie spat. Fire fury eyes turned to Valerie. “You knew about this! You and Patsy both did, that’s why you...and you  _ lied to me! _ You told me you had sex with Barbara! That was what you were hiding but it wasn’t. It wasn’t, was it? It was  _ this _ !” 

Valerie squeezed her hands tight under the table, “Trix, I didn’t lie. I never agreed to the suggestion, I just...Never--”

“You  _ told her _ that you’d had sex with me?” Barbara gasped. “And you believed her?”

“It’s hardly untrue to form, is it?” Trixie retorted. 

Valerie went to retort, an indignant shout of  _ hey _ passing her lips but she was interrupted by Trixie:

“Do you know I would have rather you have actually slept with my sister,” She laughed, dry, humourless. “Rather than be shacking up with my  _ ex-boyfriend _ this entire time and not mention him once! Not once, Barbara!”

Barbara’s brows furrowed, “You dated Tom? Tom Hereward?” 

“I’m the reason he’s in this town in the first place! He moved with us, from Brighton, and then he broke my heart not one year later!” Trixie said darkly. “Why didn’t you mention him?”

Barbara flapped at that, looking around the table, “I don’t--I don’t know. I don’t know why.”

Lucille quietly set her knife and fork down, “So you haven’t had sex with Barbara?” The question directed at Valerie set her heart thudding. 

“Of course not, it was...Trixie’s assumption that I never confirmed,” Valerie replied with a sigh. “I thought telling her the truth would...Tom was very terrible to her and she’d gotten so close with Barbara, I don’t know what we were thinking, me and Pats, but--”

“Tom is not terrible!” Barbara interjected, defensive. “He’s kind, and he’s loving and he’s--”

“ _ HA! _ ” 

Lucille ignored that exchange, focused on Valerie, “Do you often...lie to your family?”

_ Fucking hell _ . 

Val, vehemently shook her head, and leaned forward in her seat, closer to Lucille, “Never. Only that one time, to protect her, I couldn’t--I’ve never lied to you, Lu, I couldn’t.”

“So you’ve told her that you’re still talking to Magda then?” Trixie threw in, a plain smirk about her place. 

Lord could she be venomous when she wanted. 

Lucille stared at Valerie, hurt taking over her face.

“It seems,” Sister Julienne said, standing quite abruptly. “That there are some high emotions right now and we should--”

“I can’t--” Valerie licked her lips, valiantly trying to conjure up the words she so desperately needed. “It’s not just a case of cutting her out, Trix. Lu, I...It’s more complicated than that.”

“You told me she was an ex, firmly in the past,” Lucille said tightly. 

“She is! I just--”

“ _ Evidently _ .” 

“She has my  _ son _ , Lu, I can’t just not talk to her!” Valerie snapped, her jaw clenching shut as soon as the words came tumbling out. 

_ For the love of---- _

“You have a  _ son _ ?” Lucille asked incredulously.

“Not her son,” Trixie interjected once more. 

Val sighed, picking at her skin, “She cheated on me when I was deployed. I….I forgave her, we raised him together for a year and a bit before I was sent away again. My name’s on his birth certificate.”

“You have a…” Lucille set her jaw, casting her eyes up to the ceiling. 

“It’s not,” Trixie said, quiet now. Somber, almost. “Valerie, your name isn’t on his birth certificate.”

Valerie turned to her, squinting, “Yeah, it is.”

“Have you ever actually seen it?”

_ Oh. _

Trixie gazed down to her plate, “I went to Magda’s, shortly over they sent word of you being W.I.A. I said some truly horrific things to her, about how she treated you. She insisted that you were to be out of her life but I reminded her about how she’d entitled you to rights with Phillip by putting you on the certificate. She showed me. You’re not on there, Val. She lied to you.”

... _ oh. _

Valerie expelled a shaky breath, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“When was I supposed to Val? You were catatonic with PTSD when you got off the plane,” Trixie replied. “And you brought Patsy back who you never specified what sort of relationship you had; all I knew was that you kissed her, I thought you were together and in a good place romantically at least. I was—”

“You lied to me,” Valerie interrupted. “And you’re sitting high and mighty over me not telling your new bloody  _ crush  _ is with your ex?”

“You’ve kissed Patsy?” Delia asked, sharp. She’d remained quiet up until now.

Lucille also cocked her head at that. 

_ Bloody fucking hell.  _

“Once. In an airplane bathroom, it wasn’t—It wasn’t anything worth mentioning.”

“Like having a child with your ex?” Lucille folded her arms over her chest. 

“Trixie, what did Valerie mean by ‘crush’?” was Barbara’s new attack. Although, of course, said with an entirely innocent tone. 

“Nothing, she’s being an arse,” Trixie said curtly. “And he’s  _ not her son. _ ”

Barbara seemed sated by that, but continued to stare rather intently at the untouched sweet corn on her plate. 

“I haven’t seen him in months, Lu, almost a year,” Valerie bit her lip. “It’s a complicated situation. I don’t...I wanted to keep you separate from it, until I knew what was going on myself.”

“Did you have  _ sex _ with Patsy?” Delia sniped. 

“No! I kissed her in the airplane bathroom because we both nearly died and I didn’t know what else to do to  _ feel something _ !”

Sister Monica Joan made an ignored cry of, “Must we grieve like this?!”

Valerie looked between them all, stopping at Lucille, “Lu,  _ please _ . I know I should’ve told you but this is still—I’m trying to figure out how to do all of this stuff. I’m not exactly well versed in it.”

Lucille softened for a moment, before shaking her head, “How am I to trust you after this?”

Before Valerie could respond, however, Barbara had turned sharply to Lucille and declared: 

“You’re  _ married _ !” 

Trixie knocked her glass over. Delia craned her head. Phyllis and the Nuns gasped. Lucille closed her eyes and took a steady breath. 

Valerie paused completely.

“You can’t be upset with Valerie keeping her child from you when you’re  _ married _ ,” Barbara shouted, hurting. “I’ve been telling you for weeks to tell her and you—I’m sorry Lucille, I love you and you’re my most dearest friend but you can’t spout about trust when you’ve got a husband you won’t tell your  _ girlfriend _ about.”

Valerie’s face contorted, shifting with disbelief, “Lucille, is this true?”

Lucille set her jaw, “We aren’t married. I was engaged, I left before we could walk down the aisle. I’m not committed to him, or  _ anyone else _ . And you really  _ cannot _ pass judgement either, Barbara.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“ _ Trixie _ !” Lucille barked at Barbara who shrank rather suddenly into her chair. 

Trixie looked up, “What?”

However, before any sort of response could be formulated, Delia was rising from her chair, as the little bell on top of the door chimed. 

In the doorway, finally, was  _ Patsy _ . 

She looked haggard, weak. Her hair was unkempt and her mascara blotchy. Her jacket hung off of her. Frankly, she appeared exhausted. Her backpack was dropped to the floor. 

“Hi.” 

Delia stood before her, Val couldn’t see her face but she wagered the stare was a hard one. 

“Where have you been?” She asked, tight. 

Patsy toed the ground, looked at her feet, “There were some things I needed to do.”

“I didn’t know if you were coming back,” Delia snapped. “You just left. No...No note, no reason, no answer. You left, Pats. You left me.”

Patsy stepped closer to her, “I was always going to come back. I knew that. And I’m never going to leave you again.”

With that, she tugged Delia closer, ducking her head to kiss her. 

But Delia pushed a firm hand against her chest, shoving her back lightly. 

“That’s not enough.”

“Deels—”

“I’m...going to bed. I...We’ll deal with this tomorrow,” Delia sighed, turning from Patsy, and the rest of the table, to make her way upstairs. 

“We should also...take our leave,” Sister Julienne said somewhat awkwardly. Soon her and Sister Monica Joan were maneuvering around a stock-still Patsy to escape out onto the street. 

Barbara stood, looking as though she was going to say something, but chose to bite her lip instead. She left. 

Lucille left her chair, reached half-heartedly to Valerie. 

Lucille was  _ engaged _ before she left Jamaica. From the sound of it, she never called it off, just disappeared to another country and pretended it had never happened. Was that who Lucille really was?

Val turned her head. 

“Valerie,  _ please _ .”

She was supposed to be easy, painless. Lucille was supposed to be uncomplicated and everything that Valerie needed. Honesty. Consistency. Simplicity. But she wasn’t. 

Valerie didn’t move. Lucille sighed and left. 

“Girls,” Phyllis said, speaking up for the first time since the argument spiralled. She gazed between them all, eyes falling on the ragged Patsy for a moment longer. Phyllis heaved a sigh, “How about you come back to my house, lass, let that girlfriend of yours stew in peace for the night?”

Patsy looked about ready to throw up, “I shouldn’t---I should go and-and talk to her and--”

“Which is what I would usually recommend,” Phyllis stood, moving over to Patsy and squeezing her shoulder. “But she needs time and space right now.”

“She doesn’t like to sleep alone,” Patsy cried gently. 

Trixie scoffed, rising herself, “Should have thought about that before you left without a word.”

“Now, Trixie,  _ please _ ,” Phyllis warned. 

Trixie waved her off, stalking away upstairs. 

Patsy turned to Val, blinking back tears. Her voice cracked when she said, “Today’s a one, Valerie, please don’t turn away from me too.”

Patsy never cried. But in that moment, she crumbled. And Val was powerless to leave her friend in her time of need. 

Quickly, she scooped Patsy into the tightest embrace she could muster, allowing her opportunity to break. 

“I—I’ll tell you all everything, I j—just need ti—time.”

“Okay,” Val rubbed her back. She nuzzled her nose into Patsy’s hair as the woman sobbed into her neck. “You’re home, Pats. You’re home.”

Her friend held her back, clutching on like a lifeline, “Don’t go. Don’t—Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, chick.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🔥🔥🔥everything is fine🔥🔥🔥
> 
> follow me on Twitter @ratbastardfrank


	16. chapter sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a different format today  
> tw: neglect, alcoholism, neglect, lil bit of homophobia, kidnap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap is dedicated to noah bc without the constant encouragement it would have taken eight weeks to get this gal out

**PATSY**

  
When Patsy Mount was eleven years old, a black hood was thrown over her head. 

Her mother, her little sister, and herself were kept in a very dark room with some very mean men looking after them. 

Patsy was still struggling with basic Cantonese so couldn’t figure what they were saying most of the time. But they yelled, and they yelled, and they hit, and they hit and one day they hit her mother too hard. 

The next day, it was her sister. 

The day after that, they dropped her on a roadside in the countryside somewhere in Western China and that was that. 

A kind farmer found her and looked after her for several days before taking her back to Hong Kong. 

Her father entertained her for a week before she found herself toddling down the cabin of a large aircraft, London bound. 

For the most part, Patsy doesn’t recall much of that time. One day, she was in her perfectly fine life of privilege; the next, a basement room with thick air; and then she was in London. 

Alone.

Pats figured that was better than whatever kind of people kept her hostage. 

So that’s how she carried on. 

Rolled with the punches. 

Alone. 

No one waved her off when she left for Canada, and after years in University there, no one waved her off when she joined the army. 

Passing acquaintances and temporary lovers do not maketh the support system. 

She was a pacifist by right, Patsy, and she’d never intended to join the British Army. War was something she vehemently disagreed with. But most of all, it was the grooming of the poor, working class individuals who’d never done so well at school. How they’d be manipulated by the powers that be to risk everything for wars that truly needn’t be. 

Her intention, following her graduation, was to work with Doctors Without Borders. Yet the more she read, the more she discovered about these wars and how they indoctrinated people with misplaced patriotism, the more she knew her role was to be with them. Help them. Protect them. 

So she joined the Medical Corps and it was a few months until the skinny brunette with a jilting cockney accent came in with bullet fragments in her shoulder. 

Her persona was calming, relaxing. She stilled an unsettlement in Patsy that she’d had since she was a young girl. Even with Patsy pulling metal from her shoulder, she laughed with ease.

Her name was Corporal Dyer and she said this with a bright smile and even brighter eyes. 

“You needn’t bother with formalities in my tent, soldier, I’m Doctor Mount, but you can call me Patsy,” Patsy dropped the last little fragment into the dish beside her, placing down the tweezers. 

“All due respect, maam, one of the Captains hears us on familiar terms, I’m giving a hundred push ups with this messed up shoulder. They don’t like me, you know, the higher ups. Can’t figure why.”

“Well, your shoulder shouldn’t be  _ too _ messed up once I’ve finished, Dyer. And I’m quite aware of the happenings of this place, believe me.”

“If I’m callin’ you Patsy, you can call me Valerie. Or Val. Think me and you are gonna be fast friends, Doc.”

Pats and Val, after that, well they had a pretty good friendship. Solidified, of course, by the exploded bomb buried under the track. 

The fortnight in medical. 

Val had looked ostensibly tiny in that hospital bed. Hardly the right word really, more of a thin cushion on the ground with some tarp over it. She shivered, she screamed, she completely stopped breathing for five minutes. And she had the most atrocious burns over one of her legs, wrapping up all across her back, to her shoulders. 

Patsy couldn’t leave her, not when she looked so small. Not when she was the only one who’d ever felt like——

Home. 

The pain in her hand should have been quieted by codeine but Patsy couldn’t take it. Couldn’t quiet anything until she knew Val was going to be okay. 

So she stayed. She ached and she stayed because Valerie was her best friend. 

And then Valerie woke up. And that was that. 

Phyllis’ car was silent as the three of them trundled on the a-road out of town. Her house was a little cottage on the outskirts with a small collection of chickens and one rather opinionated horse. 

Quaint, cosy, Phyllis keened the fire at the heart as Valerie led Patsy to the shabby sofa beside it. 

Patsy was existing, in that moment, through some sort of haze. Everything felt as though out of focus, blurred. Static. 

Delia had turned away. 

Delia. 

Her most special love, the woman who knew her better than anyone, had turned away. 

She couldn’t—

It didn’t—

She broke her. 

_ Patience? Where’s your mother? Where’s—Where’s your sister? _

_ I don’t—I don’t know. They hit them. Hit them. And they stop—they stopped being  _ **_here_ ** **.**

_ Why didn’t you help them, Patience? Why didn’t you—You should have—Bloody hell, Patience, why did you ask to walk home? Why couldn’t you have just got in the  _ **_bloody_ ** _ car? _

_ Sir, I’m— _

_ All your fault! This is all your fault! _

_ I didn’t— _

_ You’ll cause nothing but harm to people, Patience, you’re going to destroy everyone you ever care about. Get out of my sight, I can’t bear to look at you.  _

_ Dad— _

_ Now.  _

“...Pats?...Patsy?” 

Valerie. 

A hand on her thigh, shaking her. 

By the fire, Phyllis sighed and stood. She surveyed them for a moment before vanishing to the kitchen. 

Patsy pushed the tip of her plimsolls into the rug at her feet. 

What she felt like, well, she felt empty. 

“My father is dead.”

She heard Valerie take in a sharp breath, “Pats?”

“And he was right,” Patsy bit her lip, scraping her teeth over it. She shook her head. “He was sitting in his chair, would you know, the large one behind his desk. He was working, of course he was working.”

“Patsy…”

“Looked like a painting. Everything was so...symmetrical. They got the—they got the bullet perfectly in the centre. Quite...Artful, really.”

Valerie took another gasp. The grip on her leg tightened. 

She’d said too much, been too liberal. Patsy didn’t want to sound apathetic but what else could one do to cope? Her father was dead and she’d found him. Too late. She was always too late. 

Carry on. 

Roll with the punches. 

“I’ll never get to tell the bastard that he was right.”

Beside her, Valerie asked, “Right about what?”

“Me.”

  
  


-

Nomads was closed due to unforeseen circumstances, as the sign on the door instructed. 

It was the day after the night before. 

Phyllis had dropped her off before taking Valerie to the train station—she was going to see Magda about something. 

(Patsy despised that woman more than anyone else. Which was a stretch in of itself) 

She let herself into the bakery, the remnants of the night before still present. A large birthday cake on the counter had attracted one or two flies. 

Patsy ignored the urge to clean. 

Ascending the stairs, and her body’s lethargy caught up with her. Patsy braced herself the bannister, halting at the closed door to the flat. 

Her keys felt like lead in her hands. 

She chose to knock. 

Trixie answered, Delia lingered behind. 

“Deels, can we...Can we talk?”

Delia nodded. Trixie stepped back. Patsy closed the door behind her. 

  
  
  
  
  


-

  
**BARBARA**  
  
  
  
  


When Barbara Gilbert was two years old, she learned not to trust those in charge. 

Memories are only fragments when you’re that young, through a stained glass really, obscured and colourful even when they shouldn’t be. So Barbara doesn’t remember much. 

But she remembers the sound of her father crying. Her mother comforting him. Mumbled. 

She sat at the top of the stairs with her older sister as her parents talked. The television flicked in the front room. Rolling footage of something Barbara couldn’t quite see. 

Memories of the time after that night are clearer. Families in droves turning up for counsell. Her father busy with sermons, funerals, caught up in inquests that were steadily beginning to form. 

The world was red back then. 

She remembered, one evening in the summer, when a bonfire was set up in Everton Park. 

Newspapers burned.

Her father told her, that night, that faith in yourself and your family was the only certain thing. Lies couldn’t be forgiven. Dishonesty could not be excused. 

Barbara recalled his words and the sound of silence as the fire swallowed up journalist lies, as she dragged herself up the cobbled steps to Tom’s rectory. 

She didn’t want to see him. 

To be perfectly honest, she hadn’t wanted to see him for a while. Barbara found she much rather enjoyed spending her free time with Trixie and Valerie, especially since Patsy disappeared she felt a distinctive urge to make sure that they were both okay. 

Using her key, she let herself into the little parish house, before closing the door behind her and giving herself a moment to breathe. 

Tom was in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea, when she found him. 

“You’re home earlier than I thought,” Tom said softly. 

He smiled, in a way she used to find charming, but now it seemed...sinister. Smarmy. Smirking. 

Like he’d gotten away with a lie. 

Barbara  _ despised _ it. 

“Well, Patsy came home,” She waved dismissively. “I thought it best to give them some space.”

Tom, for his part, didn’t stumble as he poured the hot water. But his eyebrows furrowed slightly—as though disappointed. 

Interesting. 

“I can imagine that was tense.”

Barbara took her own cup from the cupboard and added a tea bag. 

She poured her own water. 

“Quite.”

Tom looked at her now, confused at her tone. 

Barbara swirled her spoon in the cup. 

“I realised this evening,” Barbara started. The spoon tapped on the mug three times. “You’ve never told me how you ended up in Hempstead.”

Tom added milk, far too much milk to be honest. 

Barbara allowed her tea time to brew. 

“I was seeing a woman, she decided she wanted a change and there was an opening for a curate here—we broke up not too long after we moved here but I’d made a home in the parish, I didn’t want to leave.”

“Hm.”

Barbara steeped the teabag, pressing it against the side of the cup with her spoon to drain the last of the water out. 

“Do you know, if you’d have mentioned you knew Trixie I would have invited you tonight,” Her tone chipper, sweet. 

She choked the tea bag more. 

“Trixie?” Tom wheezed. 

“From the bakery. Nomads. By the library.”

Tom choked, twitching his mouth as though he had any control over the actions of his fact, “I suppose I’ve been in once or twice—not enough to say I know her though.”

Barbara moved the teabag to the bin, “No. You  _ know _ her, Tom.”

“I don’t know what you—”

Barbara spun at that, turning to him with a questioning glare. 

“Tell me the truth.”

Tom stumbled as he lifted the cup to his lips, “Trixie was my girlfriend. We broke up a couple of weeks after we moved here. She was...insane.”

“ _ Insane _ ?”

“She cheated on me,” Tom shrugged. He leaned back onto the counter, continued to sip his tea. “She denied it but I knew. Called  _ me _ all sorts. Threw things at me. Blamed her alcoholism on me! Insane!”

Barbara reached for the milk, shaking her head vehemently. 

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you’d be honest from the start!” She retorted, the carton crinkling from her strong grip. 

“I wanted to forget about her!”

“We live in the same town, Tom!” Barbara snapped. “She lives  _ two streets _ away from you! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“She’s  _ toxic _ !”

“I don’t believe you!” Barbara screamed back. 

The carton hit the fridge beside Tom, bursting. Milk spilled everywhere. 

“You’re a  _ rat _ , Tom Hereward, and you’re going to  _ bloody _ hell!”

And with that, Barbara left. 

The tea was left steaming on the counter. 

  
  
  


-

**DELIA**  
  
  
  


When Delia Busby was sixteen years old, a tree branch snapped beneath her.

Her mother found her, in the back garden, at the base of the tall oak that laboured high in the sky. She’d broken her arm in two places and received a pretty nasty cut to the head. 

Oh, and short term amnesia and epilepsy soon followed. 

It took her a few months to recall her memories, remember faces and names and all the little facts of her. Her parents were kind and encouraging and she didn’t miss too much of school. Oddly, facts and figures never left her, it was only people and personas she lost. 

When they all came back, well, Delia just carried on as she had. Only she had a little silver bracelet and seizure medication that slurred her speech and her movements. 

No one ever asked her why they never found the snapped branch on the ground. 

But her mother never let her climb a tree again. 

Trixie had dismissed herself downstairs with a flimsy excuse that Delia was grateful for. 

Patsy swallowed thickly, Delia watched as she stood, nervous, looking so small for once, in front of the door. 

Delia could do nothing but stare. In the weeks her heart ached for Patsy, her rage burned for Patsy, her body yearned for Patsy, she’d imagined all the different things she would say. 

But now, nothing. 

So Delia simply stared. And waited. 

And then Patsy began to speak. 

“My father is—was—a wealthy man. Nobody with his wealth ever accumulated it innocently. He had...His actions had made many people very angry.” 

Patsy had her lip caught between her teeth now. She looked everywhere but Delia. As if she couldn’t bear it, bare the intimacy of honesty. 

Pats had never been able to hold a gaze all that long anyway, her eyes flickered about a room constantly searching for something else, appraising everything. Delia thought it rude at first. Her dad always told her you can’t trust people who don’t hold your eyes. But the more Delia learned about people, about various kinds of disorders and anxieties, the more she found that untrue. 

Patsy knew so much, had seen so much, it wasn’t sinister that she couldn’t look at Delia now. It was how she was. How she had to be. It took months before Patsy smirked at her in that charming way and kept their eyes connected for a long moment. Delia was certain her cardiac rhythm jumped two beats when it happened. 

Every complication of Patience Mount was another reason Delia fell in love with her. 

But  _ god _ right now all she wanted was for Patsy to look at her. 

“They kidnapped me when I was eleven,” Patsy said in a tone that was far too frank as her teeth bit down far too hard. “My mother and sister too but I was the...the intended target. My father had been suspicious and ordered us protection, chaperoned in cars to and from school. But it was such a nice day and I wanted to walk.”

Delia found that her legs gave way. She moved to the sofa, gaze transfixed on Patsy who stared out to the balcony, to the outside world. 

“They killed my mother. And my sister. And left me. I don’t know why,” Patsy sniffed, but she wasn’t crying. She just looked empty. 

“How...How long were you…?” Delia croaked out. 

Patsy shrugged, “Two weeks, two months, I don’t—It’s not something that I remember. Consciously. They tried to—In the trial, I was put in a room beside the courtroom. They asked me anything I could remember but I—Details are missing. I only see—...Their faces. That’s what I—It’s how they convicted them. I remember their faces clearer than my own mother’s.”

Delia felt like she was drowning. No, like she was falling, like that oak tree branched had snapped again. 

“Why did you go back?”

“Because I knew that they’d kill my father and I had to see him one last time,” Patsy scrunched her nose up, shook her head. “I was too late. He was still warm when I—...But I’m  _ home _ now,” She said this earnestly, and finally her eyes met Delia’s. 

They were pleading, desperate, and uncertain. 

“And I can put it all behind me,” Patsy forced a fish hook smirk. “We can—We can carry on. You and me, old thing, like we were.”

That was when the sensation of falling stopped. When Delia felt like she’d hit the ground. Only this time the impact shattered her chest. 

It was...She couldn’t do it. Trixie had been wrong last night. She couldn’t—There was too much that had been...

“Patsy you...You disappeared,” She started softly. “You left without telling anyone. One moment you were weighing flour and the next you packed everything you own into a backpack and left—”

“Delia I didn’t have—”

“A note, Pats, or a bloody phone call on your way to the airport,” Delia sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“I would have—You would have asked the reason and I didn’t have time to explain,” Patsy defended, taking a step closer to the sofa. “I had to—I didn’t have time.”

Delia looked to her, “You wouldn’t have needed to explain if you’d told me sooner. We’ve been together over a year and I didn’t know that you were  _ kidnapped _ as a child!”

“It’s hardly something one brings up in polite conversation.”

“Maybe not polite conversation but in any of the times we spoke about—“ Delia closed her eyes, and took a heavy sigh. 

Patsy moved then, coming to kneel before her, “Delia, I’m sorry I—I’m so sorry that I didn’t—that I  _ can’t—“ _

“You don’t share easily and I respect that, I do,” Delia found Patsy’s hands and squeezed them. “But this is something major, Pats. You should have...You should have told me sooner. And you should have told us where you were going. God, I’d be less mad if you’d even bothered to tell  _ Valerie _ !”

Patsy winced at that, “Delia, please, I—“

“I think we need to take a break, Patsy.”

Her lungs heaved, heart thudded, a phantom fracture in her arm set her nervous system on fire. 

“Delia…”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Delia let go of Patsy’s hands. “I can’t—You just  _ left _ Patsy.”

“You are  _ all _ I have left, please don’t—Delia, I don’t know what to do. I can’t—I’ve told you everything. Please don’t—Please don’t turn away from me again.”

Patsy was grappling at her now, fingers clenching her skirt, her shirt, holding onto her. Like the branch beneath her was creaking, threatening to snap. Patsy was searching for something to stop the fall. 

But, like Delia had when she was sixteen, it was her choice to jump. 

Delia stood, pushing Patsy’s hands from her, “I’m going to...I’m going to stay at a friend’s in London for a few days, I think that’s for the best.”

Patsy, on the ground, broken and bruised, asked, “Is this the end of us?”

“No,” Delia shook her head. She leaned down then, and kissed the top of Patsy's head. “But for now it is.”

Patsy, finally, began to cry. She stayed, on the floor, watching in agony as Delia collected her few things and packed a small suitcase. 

A cry of pain sounded when she closed the door. 

Trixie, when she reached the bottom of the stairs, pulled her into a warm embrace. 

“You clear your head, sweetie,” Trixie squeezed her tightly. “And come back as soon as you're able.”

“Will you look after her?” Delia asked, burying her face in Trixie’s neck. 

“Of course,” Trixie pulled back and rubbed her arms. “Don’t forget this is your home, Delia.”

Delia nodded, smiled, pressed a kiss to Trixie’s cheek, and left the bakery with a long look back. 

Beside the train station stood a tall oak. 

Delia did not climb it. 

-

**LUCILLE**

  
  


When Lucille Anderson was eighteen years old, she knew her only option was to run away.

Her father had told her in no uncertain way that her boyfriend would be her husband before she departed for England. He’d heard stories, her father, of the type of men that studied at Oxford University and he wasn’t to have them going after his daughter. A wedding ring would be the only way to keep them off of her. 

Lucille didn’t get a say in this besides a stilted  _ yes _ when a day later her boyfriend got down on one knee. 

The summer between high school and her looming departure dragged with wedding plans and empty promises. 

When Lucille was younger, in her more vulnerable teenage years, she had discovered a part of herself that had to remain mute for her own safety. She was transfixed, one fateful evening, on how Delyse’s skin glowed blue in the moonlight. How her curves, new, fresh, enticing, filled out her clothes and begged for touch. 

Lucille lived with it, her attraction to women, as though a companion dressed in mime. Beside her, it made gestures, smiled and waved at all the pretty girls in the streets. But it did not speak. For she could not allow it to. 

She loved her boyfriend dearly—he was her first love, her first everything. Yet she didn’t want him to be her last love, her last everything. 

Lucille wanted to taste what was forbidden, allow the mime to wipe off its makeup and take centre stage as the grand romantic it had always been underneath. 

She couldn’t go through with the wedding. 

As her mother, aunties, cousins swooned over fabrics and flower arrangements, Lucille applied to study Nursing and Midwifery at Oxford Brookes. She’d visited the town and loved it but would gladly never attend the institution. Least of all study  _ PPE _ . If her plan was to work, if she was to be successful, she’d needn’t know about business or politics or anything at all. 

She’d lose inheritance, lose her family, lose her name. 

But she could create her own. 

The evening before the wedding, Lucille hid her suitcase—only one, for that’s all she could carry—under her bed and wrote three letters. Once the Orchard had fallen into stupor, Lucille left. 

Once in England, the panic set in. Fear. She envisioned her father turning up, clutching her letter, threatening to take her home and have her face the consequences of her indiscretions. 

But she received nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

She had accepted the potential consequence of her honesty but in all her musings assumed some sort of outcry. 

The silence hurt more. 

Shame, it seemed, had triumphed confrontation. 

“ _ Anderson Orchard, Hortense speaking _ .”

“Momma?”

In her own shame, Lucille realised she couldn’t go on like this. She needed to know, needed clarification. 

She needed to hear her parents disown her. 

That was that really. 

Lucille cradled the telephone closer to her ear, bracing herself against the wall. 

“ _ Lucy?” _ Her mother gasped. 

Lucille nodded, despite herself, choking out, “Yes. Yes it’s me. It’s Lucille.”

Behind her, the front door slammed shut and Barbara ran upstairs. 

Lucille swallowed thickly, “I miss you. I—I miss you so much, momma.”

That blasted silence permeated the line. Lucille held her breath. 

_ “My Lucy, I’ve missed you too _ ,” her mother cried, voice shaking. There was some shuffling, as though the phone was pulling close.  _ “How...How are you? Are you well?” _

Lucille clutched the handset tighter, squeezing her eyes shut against the burning tears forming there. 

“I’m good,” it came out strained, aching. “I’m a nurse now, and—and a midwife. I-...I’m  _ so sorry _ .”

Another stretch of silence. 

Lucille slid down the wall, landing with a thud. Her fist brought to her mouth to hold back the sob. 

“ _ Are you still in England _ ?”

“Yes. Yes, I...I found a home—a home here,” Lucille replied. 

Her mother inhaled, sharp, “ _ Are you...happy _ ?”

No. 

Truthfully, no. Lucille wasn’t happy. Everything with Valerie aside, Lucille couldn’t recall a time of joy since her youth in the mango trees. Since the mime introduced itself, since she’d started hiding it away—tucked in a box under her bed with all those forbidden dreams and American magazines. 

That’s why she’d left, intrinsically. But Lucille wasn’t one to bode well with indecision. She preferred a finality. And that’s what she needed now. 

“Momma I’m seeing someone,” Lucille expelled quickly, in a moment of bravery. “Or-Or I was. I don’t know if…”

“ _ How can you not know?”  _ Her mother asked, stiff. 

“It’s been a turbulent beginning,” Lucille bit her lip. “But I think…”

Lucille hadn’t been mad, even if it had come across that way, at the secrecy regarding Magda and Valerie’s alleged son. It was shock mostly, and a touch of hurt. 

She did not judge. Because she knew she couldn’t. Keeping the engagement from Valerie was a selfish choice not to inform of an event long since passed, Valerie kept Magda from her because it was still happening and she didn’t want to risk Lucille getting caught up in it. 

Lucille found her life was eclipsed by should-haves and what-ifs in that very moment. 

Valerie had an expressive face. The kind that never told a lie despite what her words may say. Open. Honest. Valerie’s eyes, her mouth, the slight wrinkle of her nose—they couldn’t conceal her truth.

Lucille wondered, perhaps, if Valerie was the mime beside her all along. 

“She’s special,” Lucille said, caught between her own musings and her current reality. It came out with ease, the confession, in a way she’d never thought possible. 

There was a reason letters were her choice of delivery the first time. 

“I think  _ we _ could be something special together,” Lucille continued. Her heart thumped hard. “She’s been through so much and, yes, it’s hard for her some days but most days she’s so bright. So happy. She cares so deeply that I feel privileged to receive it.”

The phone hadn’t been hung up, slammed down, or thrown against a wall. 

Lucille heard her mother take a breath.

And then she asked: 

“ _ What’s her name?” _

Intrigued, mellow...accepting?

Lucille couldn’t hold back her sob any longer and moved the receiver away to free it. 

“Valerie. Her name’s Valerie. She owns a bakery.”

There would be more questions, more battles in the war of this to be won. But for now, Lucille had her answer. 

For the first time, the mime took centre stage. 

-

The echoing ring of the doorbell woke Lucille the next morning. Or was it early afternoon? She didn’t quite know. 

Barbara made no move to answer it so she found herself dragging her tired body down the stairs. 

After ending the call with her mother last night—her father had arrived home and he couldn’t know—Lucille found sanctum in the bottle of rum she’d been saving for special occasions. 

She rubbed eyes and yawned, opening the door steadily. 

“Hi.”

Lucille blinked. 

“May I come in?”

She hadn’t expected Valerie. At least not so soon after the secrets divulged. But here she was, on her doorstep. 

Lucille nodded and stepped aside, allowing her space to enter. 

They sat at the breakfast nook, Lucille leaned back to find one of her plants tickled her neck. It didn’t bother her. She observed Valerie. 

She looked tired. Lucille wagered no one slept well last night, yet Val didn’t look as grim as she’d have thought she would. Her skin glowed, her eyes had this sort of electric, and she seemed prepared. For what? Lucille could not answer. 

Her own lethargy came from her actions. She  _ slowly _ sipped her coffee, she  _ slowly _ looked around the room, she  _ slowly  _ waited to speak. 

Valerie took a moment, it seemed, Lucille considered, that she was carefully considering her next words—mulling them over, deciding their impact. 

“People don’t keep secrets because they want to,” Valerie began softly. 

On the table, her hand twitched. Lucille observed the puckering skin scars, lighter than what Patsy’s were, but on both hands. Little crescents. Like moons. 

“People keep secrets because they’re scared. Because they have to. Because the truth is infinitely more upsetting. They could be laughed at, ridiculed. Or because they want to hide it because if they keep it hidden, then they don’t have to see it themselves. Secrets are embarrassing, I-...Know a thing or two about that.”

Her hand twitched again. Lucille dared, in an instance of bravery, to reach across and touch it. Valerie turned her wrist, opening her palm up, and clutched Lucille’s hand in hers. 

“Tell me what happened, Lu.”

  
  
  
  


-

  
**TRIXIE.**  
  


When Beatrix Franklin was nineteen years old, her mother died. 

She was up in Manchester, struggling through the first year of a Business degree but having a damn sight lot of fun doing it. The work was hard, the people harder, but Trixie thrived under pressure. 

A diamond, that’s what her birth mother had called her once, formed sparkling under the most intense pressure. 

Of course that was before she checked out completely and the local authority tossed her in a kid’s home lest her negligent father learn to parent. 

She was six when she first arrived in Reading and loved to put on shows for any of the other children who’d watch. None of them did, of course, yet she carried on anyway. 

A year later, Trixie had stopped performing and Valerie was brought in. 

The children’s home lacked enough space for solidarity so Trixie had to retire her independence as they moved Valerie into the bed beside her. She’d wanted the bed by the window, Val, for reasons yet unknown. Trixie acquiesced because what else could one do when an emaciated mute asked for something? 

Val made herself small which fit Trixie fine. Neither of them had much but what Val did have never infringed into Trixie’s space. In fact, Val would stay away from everyone, tucked in a corner with a book or colouring pencils, small and silent. 

Trixie recalled the first time Val spoke. It was somewhere past the witching hour and Trixie was awoken by mumblings. Usually, this would terrify her, but the mumblings were young like she and feminine like she. 

She turned in her bed to face Val’s, observed as she had a stuffed rabbit in her hands, a stuffed bear beside her. They were ‘talking’ these stuffed animals and so was Valerie. 

Trixie moved from her bed, dragging her own stuffed giraffe with her, and gently perched herself besides Val. 

“Can we join?” She asked. 

Valerie nodded, “Please.”

They’d been fostered by mum a few years later. Val had come out of herself through gentle therapists and Trixie’s support and companionship. Trixie, herself, had found someone she could trust too, be vulnerable with. Someone she didn’t have to put on a happy face for. 

They’d grown like sisters in that shared little room and the anxiety of separation crippled them when the foster mother had taken a shine to Valerie. Not ten minutes of a chat with Val passed, however, before Trixie was invited into it. 

And that was that. 

Mum had thought they’d grow apart maybe, as they grew in teenagedom with three years between them and substantially varying personalities. Where Trixie was vain, Valerie was content. Where Valerie was passionately argumentative, Trixie was passionately passive aggressive. Where Valerie was closed, Trixie was open. 

But they didn’t, grow apart that is. Valerie excelled in her studies and skipped a year of schooling, allowing her a closeness to Trixie. During school lunch breaks, they were always together, shared the same friends, and ran in the same circles. 

Valerie cried when Trixie told her she was leaving for university. It’d been a turbulent year, impossible in some parts. Val had been outed by a scumbag boy and although it meant she could hold Magda’s hand in public, the slurs were enough to have Trixie throwing punches. 

Mum and Phyllis hadn’t scolded her. They’d taken her to Debenhams and bought her the Chanel lipstick she’d been eyeing. 

They’d told her on that shopping trip how they were going to keep an eye on Val. Although she wasn’t that scared little mute anymore, sometimes fragments of her would become apparent. Trixie still worried relentlessly. 

Valerie had given her the tightest, most warmest hug she’d ever received at her dormitory. They’d all come to help move her in and Valerie joked about staying and simply hiding in the wardrobe should anyone come knocking. 

It was a joke, of course, just a joke. But how Trixie yearned for her to stay. 

Valerie’s stuffed rabbit and stuffed bear sat on the shelf in her room. Trixie didn’t care if it made her look childish. 

And she slept with them both for the first few weeks. 

They spoke all the time so Trixie hadn’t been too concerned when she’d been in a lecture and Valerie called her. She’d declined with a quick message of her lack of availability with a promise to call back in thirty. 

Val text back: Need to speak now. It’s mum. 

And Trixie was out of the hall immediately. 

She returned back to university a month or two later to take her final exams. She’d aced them and could progress onto her second year. 

Valerie began training to join the army and Trixie started going to the student’s union every night. A rift began to form in the chasm that their mum’s death had left. 

Trixie spent her final year day drinking and entertaining anyone who would ignore the taste of gin on her lips. Valerie was sent abroad 

Miraculously, she graduated. Valerie was indisposed and couldn’t make the ceremony. 

She’d gotten awfully drunk that night, mourning her mother, her sister, and her own bloody self. It was then Phyllis stopped her, intervened, gave her the help she’d been craving. 

The first lie Trixie told Valerie was that she was staying in Portofino as a graduation gift to herself. Phyllis helped facilitate. 

And then she got her MBA and started dating the good Reverend Tom; Magda had a baby; Valerie got her heartbroken and, soon after, in walked Patience Mount. 

That was that. 

Trixie held the piping bag firm as she swirled decadent icing into artisanal patterns along the fondant topping of another unnecessary cake. 

Delia had left about an hour ago and Trixie had allowed Patsy the privacy to grieve. She knew her well enough now, to give her space was paramount, and the rest was through quiet comforts. 

A creak on the stairs signalled her time for solitude was up. 

Patsy stood in the door for a moment. 

“You really are awfully good at the decoration,” She said, voice raw. 

Trixie gave a small smile, “I used to think that if something was nice on the inside, it wouldn’t matter what it tasted like.” She said the piping bag down and spun the lazy susan lightly. “But a bad cake is a bad cake, no matter how you dress it up.”

Patsy nodded her head, moving then, to unhook her apron from the wall. She tied it with gentle precision, and made her way to the pantry. 

“How do you feel about an eclair?” Patsy asked, setting eggs and flour down on the table. 

Trixie watched her hand twitch, heard the desperation. Any past anger she had trickled away. 

“I think I’d love one.”

They baked with Trixie silent and Patsy telling her story. She listened keenly and gave a shoulder squeeze when called for. But Patsy seemed unfazed now, reciting it like poetry or lines for school. 

She only stuttered when she said, “And now Delia’s broken up with me and I...I really thought we could get through this.”

“You will do, sweetie,” Trixie said softly. “She just needs time.”

Patsy didn’t seem convinced. 

They finished baking in silence, Patsy cleaned as Trixie added the finishing touches. 

Once they’d eaten, perched on the table, Patsy asked, “Have you heard from Valerie?”

Trixie shook her head, “No. I don’t think she’s best pleased with me right now. Although I’m still annoyed at her. And you too for that matter.”

“Trix—”

“I forgive you both,” Trixie sighed. “I just hope she can forgive me.”

“She will. She’s seeing Magda now, and then Lucille,” Patsy gave her a small smile. “She’ll be home soon.”

Trixie teared at that. 

Patsy was quick to pass her a handkerchief. 

“It’s what mum and Phyllis used to say to me, you know,” Trixie dabbed her eyes with Patsy’s handkerchief. “Look out for your little sister, protect her. I can’t find the words to describe what she was like, Pats, those first few months in the children’s home—she didn’t know how to talk because no one had ever asked her to.”

Patsy, for all her awkwardness and uncomfort that stemmed from others emotions, brought Trixie into her side and held her flush against her. She rubbed her arm warmly. 

“That’s all I was doing, protecting her,” Trixie mumbled, hiding her face in Patsy’s neck. 

“And don’t you think Valerie was doing the same by not telling you about Tom and Barbara?” Patsy asked softly. She bit her lip and squeezed Trixie closer. 

Trixie sighed, as she often did when she knew someone else was right, and pulled back. 

Her fingers, they plucked at a loose thread on the handkerchief. 

“Patsy?”

Patsy appeared preoccupied with her own hands. Staring down at her lap, she rolled her fingers over each other as she often did under stress. 

Or something else entirely. 

But only one other person knew about  _ that _ tick. 

Fragments of long gone happenstances appeared before her eyes. 

Trixie had seen Patsy's left hand absolutely destroyed. When they’d arrived back from the Middle East, it had a metal cage around it, keeping the ligaments and tendons in place as the bones healed. Once that had been repaired, Trixie had watched with awe as Patsy steadily gained her strength in it. The skin took a while too, longer than they’d thought at first. Patsy admitted it looked horrific but Trixie thought it beautiful and cajoled her into believing what it stood for. 

Surviving. 

Even with Patsy’s left hand out of commission when they’d first met, she’d been a dab hand with her right. 

And her mouth. 

Patsy licked her lips. 

Trixie inhaled sharply, “Patsy, could we—”

Patsy looked up. 

It had been years. 

“ _ Please _ .”

Not a millisecond passed before Trixie was kissing her. 

Her hands found purchase in Patsy’s hair, tugging her closer, tugging it hard. 

Patsy let out a gasp and grappled for Trixie’s hips, rolling her into her back. 

They skipped the foreplay, it was never necessary for either of them. 

Patsy fell down to her knees and her fingers hooked into Trixie’s leggings, pulling them down with her. 

-

Trixie pressed small kisses to Patsy’s cheek and she withdrew her fingers, wiping them on the other woman’s thigh. 

Patsy knocked her forehead to Trixie’s cheek. 

“I’m going to need to sterilize this entire room,” Patsy said quietly. 

Trixie laughed, standing on shaking legs and helping Patsy up too. They righted themselves, readjusted clothing, Trixie retrieved her discarded knickers from where they’d ended up by the oven. 

“Delia can’t know,” Patsy said suddenly. 

Trixie nodded, “And neither can Valerie.”

That had been their first rule for whatever this was. Valerie couldn’t know. It wasn’t anything, see, just two friends blowing off steam together. They’d started after Trixie broke up with Tom, and ended when Patsy met Delia. 

Patsy reached over and brushed some hair from Trixie’s eyes.

“Right,” Patsy said. “Time to clean.”

She really was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Val will be back with her thoughts n opinions in the next one
> 
> Please let me know what y’all thought of this one, it’s been a stressful and hard one to write 
> 
> twitter: @ratbastardfrank


	17. chapter seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: references child neglect

When Valerie Dyer was five years old, her first word was spoken. 

Valerie awoke with a strangled sort of yelp as a hard, blunt pain suddenly emanated from her right shin. Blinking away the bright spots of sheer agony, Valerie turned in the bed, finding poor Patsy tossing and turning beside her. 

They’d set up camp in Phyllis’ spare room, cocooned in several heavy blankets against the evening chill of the old cottage, and embracing each other in the small double bed. 

On the shelf beside the window, Trixie’s old stuffed giraffe observed them. 

Emotionally exhausted and physically lethargic, Valerie had fallen asleep very promptly, curled up so as to make herself as small as possible on the edge of the bed. Patsy, well, she wasn’t standing for that and tugged Valerie closer, arm around her waist, holding her flush against her chest. Warm. 

Space heater Pats and all that. 

Valerie was too tired to think of the implications of this, however, sharing a bed with Pats. And really  _ shouldn’t _ have been all that startled by the foot to the shin at seven am. She never pretended to be the smartest one of them. 

(Trixie would pointedly remind her of her perfect grades throughout high school, but that was neither here nor there).

Valerie coughed, clearing her throat, and moved to hold Patsy’s wrist. Her hands you see, had twisted maniacally in the sheets. Choked them. 

She didn’t do much else but circle her wrist with her fingers. Pats had to live out her nightmare and Valerie just had to make sure she didn’t hurt herself in the process.

Physically at least. 

Val didn’t get back asleep. She sat up, against the headboard, watching how Patsy would twitch, swing, kick. Valerie wondered, idly, if Pats had ever known peace. 

Probably with Delia. 

That’s when she was always the most...still. 

Patsy came to a little after nine, but looked substantially more tired than when she went to sleep. Yawning, she still seemed hazy. Like the night before, completely out of it. She wriggled, Patsy, and moved to rest her head on Val’s lap. Wordless. Val stroked her hair, working out the few knots with her fingers, and massaged her head slightly. 

Phyllis appeared with tea and crumpets and, although vehemently opposed to what one calls  _ breakfast in bed _ , allowed them to indulge without moving. 

Patsy didn’t stray from Val. One part of her stayed touching her as though without it, she’d float away. 

In dribs and drabs, Patsy confessed more. Detailed accounts from what she could remember, of her time in the room with thick air, of her father’s dismissal, of how he looked dead at his work desk. 

It was beyond comprehension really, the trauma that Patsy had lived through. Sure she’d had a rough go of it for a while but compared to Pats? Blimey. 

Patsy didn’t need words of comfort, or sympathy. She needed to let her thoughts flow and process them of her own accord. Valerie was just a conduit for this. She held her tight. 

Eventually, they showered. Valerie took care to wash Patsy’s hair and lingered on running the sponge over the scars on her back. They mirrored her own, only where Patsy’s were long thick lines, Val’s were winding like spilled oil along her skin. 

They dressed silently. 

Phyllis drove them back into the town, asking only once if they were okay before distracting the conversation with some new recipes she’d found. Patsy seemed to perk at that, a little bit of fission happening at the prospect of returning to the work she truly loved. 

Outside the bakery, Valerie lingered in the car. She did not move to leave as Patsy had. 

They shared a look, understanding, and Patsy nodded her head. 

Valerie turned to Phyllis to request a lift to the station. 

On the train into London, Valerie rested her head against the window and watched how the buildings would get taller, how the fields would get smaller. The graffiti on stone walls shone bright in the morning sun. Random gang tags. Someone staking their claim. 

It reminded her of how Magda would always bite her. In those first few months together and actually  _ being together _ , Magda would leave the imprint of her teeth on Valerie’s breasts, collarbone. One time even her finger. She’d been possessive, not in a domineering way—she’d never restrict who Valerie saw or interrogate her or anything like  _ that _ —but she wanted everyone to know that Valerie was hers. Always. 

And Val  _ loved  _ that. Despite mum and Phyllis and even Trixie’s best efforts, persisted in Valerie’s life, a fear of abandonment. The reassurances tricked her ego but her id suffered with second guessing. 

Magda, through her actions, reaffirmed in Valerie a sense of belonging. As though she’d found what it was she’d been searching for since infancy. 

They drifted after Val’s mum’s death, entirely too much sex and not enough talking. And so Valerie had withdrawn her university applications and signed up for the military instead. Searching once more. Magda remained consistent because Valerie didn’t know what she’d do without her. But the feeling of being found had diminished to near nothing. 

Til she met Pats, o’course. And that was that. 

Magda’s house on the outskirts of London had a navy blue door and none of the charm of Lucille’s yellow one. 

But Lucille couldn’t be on her mind right now. 

No. It wouldn’t help matters. 

Valerie knocked. 

Magda hadn’t changed much over the years. Sure her hair styles or fashion sense drifted with the times—she was always ever so glamorous, her and Trix would fawn over Vogue and Elle while Valerie admired on. Only difference now, from that girl Val loved since she was twelve, was the child on her hip. 

Valerie couldn’t help the grin that broke on her face at the sight of him. 

“Valerie?” Magda spoke her name with confusion behind every letter. “I thought you would have called first before you—”

“Casper!” Philip wriggled from his mother’s arms, jumping down to wrap his own around Valerie’s hips and press himself tight against her. 

Valerie’s smile stumbled at this, but her hands rested on Philip’s back, returning the embrace somewhat. It was so easy to fall into the warmth. 

Philip was small for six, a soft lad, he was. Val had figured he would be when he was a timid little newborn, hardly ever making a fuss. 

Magda said he must have got the comfort in silence from her. 

Trixie said that was bullshit because Val thrives in noise. 

Phyllis said the little lad was perfectly healthy and that’s all that matters. 

“Hey chick,” Val ruffled Philip’s hair before she kneeled down to his height. “How’ve you been?” A finger to his cheek, a small cut there. “Causin’ havoc?”

“Mhmm!” Philip nodded vibrantly. “Me an-and mum built a den in the garden yesterday, will you come play?”

Valerie smiled at him, genuine, and nodded, “You go ahead, I just need to speak to your mum about a few things first, okay?”

“Okay!” He wrapped his arms around her again, squeezing her so impossibly tight. “Missed you Casper!” 

And then he zoomed back into the house. 

That bloody nickname. 

Valerie straightened herself and brushed her jeans down, before letting her gaze meet Magda’s. 

“He calls you that because—”

“Because I’m a friendly  _ ghost _ , yes I know,” Valerie interrupted. 

In the period between his second and third birthday, Valerie had sat down and watched the old childhood favourite with her little boy. 

She’d been invited ( _ begged _ ) back into his life by Magda after Samuel upped and left but Val had been astute that it was only for Philip, that they would never be together again. 

(Of course after the movie, when Philip napped, Valerie allowed Magda to drag her upstairs but that’s neither here nor there). 

As the movie went on, Valerie simply explained to him that she wouldn’t be here all the time because, like Casper, she had to disappear to do her own thing. But if he ever needed help or someone in his corner, she’d be there. 

And so he’d stop calling her Vee (apparently the other two syllables of her name were quite complicated for his small tongue) and dubbed her Cas-pa, upgrading to Casper as he got older. 

“He loves you,” Magda said, drawing her back to the present. Valerie bit her lip. “I love you.”

“Magda, you can’t say that,” Valerie shook her head. “I told you not to say that.”

Magda leaned against the door frame, “I thought that was what you were here for, to tell me you still loved me.”

Valerie exhaled a large sigh. 

It made sense, she  _ had _ turned up rather unprompted. But no. She couldn’t. 

_ Lucille.  _

Valerie shook her head once more, “I always will, a little bit. But it’s never going to be...I’m not here for that. I won’t ever be here for that.”

Magda retreated slightly. 

Val asked, “Can I see Philip’s birth certificate?”

At that, Magda looked affronted, she furrowed her brows and jerked her chin, “Why?”

“Because I don’t think I’m on it,” Valerie replied, honest, not bothering to hide the hurt in her voice. “Because I think you lied to keep stringing me along like you have done since we were teenagers.”

“Valerie, why would you--”

“Trixie told me,” Valerie said plainly. “She told me that she came to see you when I was in that medical bay and you told her that you hadn’t put me on the birth certificate. So I would like to see it.”

Magda had the decency in that moment to look guilty. She supported herself with the doorframe as the shame pushed her down. Her head was bowed. 

“If you were on the birth certificate, I wouldn’t--...My mother and father wouldn’t…”

“Don’t give me that,” Valerie retorted, that jolt of anger coursing up her spine. “They were  _ fine _ with us being together -- they bloody  _ loved me _ !”

Magda shook her head, “They had a different outlook once I fell pregnant, it wasn’t--I couldn’t  _ not _ be with the baby’s father. It was unacceptable to them. So I had to--But to  _ me _ , you were on there as his mother, I wanted you to be!”

“ _ Tosh! _ ” Valerie spat. “If you wanted it, you would have put me on! You never cared what they--”

“I  _ needed  _ them!” Magda cut her off sharply. Her eyes bored into Valerie. “You  _ left _ ! You decided to go and you didn’t think about  _ anyone else _ ! Me, Trixie or Phyllis?! You  _ ran away _ , Valerie. You ran away! Why do you think I cheated on you in the first place?”

Valerie stepped back, “You can’t spin on this on me.”

“You didn’t take discharge,” Magda continued. “You could have left when he...but you didn’t. You were going to leave again and we had a newborn baby, was I supposed to do this alone?”

“I had to go,” Valerie replied, weak. “You know why I had to go.”

“And you know why I had to appease my parents,” Magda said as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I tried with Samuel again because they insisted. But he left too, because I was still so...And then  _ you  _ got hurt and the thought that you could have died? That you could never have come home? It made me realise that I couldn’t--that I  _ can’t _ continue on without you.”

“We agreed to be friends,” Valerie sighed, rubbing her eyes in stress. “Because you broke my heart but I couldn’t leave our little boy. But then you--this last year--you’ve been…”

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Magda interrupted, vulnerable but harsh. 

“And, like I said, I think I always will be a little bit but Magda I can’t... _ we can’t _ . You need to accept that you and I aren't going to work, not after everything, not after this. I’ve met...I’ve met someone. It’s a little rocky, I’ll admit, but I think we...I think I could love her once we sort that out.”

Magda set her jaw at that. 

Valerie bit her lip, “I’m going to go in and say goodbye to Philip, okay? I want to be in his life but only when you...when you’ve understood that you and me will never be together.”

Magda didn’t move. Valerie gestured to get past, into the house, but Magda stood firm. 

“Magda.”

“Run away again, Valerie. I’ll tell him that.”

And then that navy door was slammed in her face. 

Valerie stared, for one small moment, at the brass numbers at her eyeliner, before nodding her head in concession and turning away.

That was that then. 

Valerie straightened her spine. Flexed her fingers.

On with it. 

Roll with the punches. 

It was on her walk back to the station, forgoing the underground for the crisp freshness of the late August air, that Valerie found herself dawdling in the centre of the road. Hands tucked in her pockets, looking down at her crossing feet, she walked along the dotted white lines in the middle of the road. 

The middle of the road had always been a solace for her, some suspended moment between risk and freedom. 

The first time she did this, she was five years old. 

Her birthday, in fact. 

It didn’t mean much really, besides getting to have a little bit more of the condensed milk that usually she would only have a teaspoon of. That was her birthday cake, see, that extra spoonful of milk. After dinner, she’d ran upstairs to play with her little stuffies, her rabbit and bear being her absolutely favourite. They were her best friends essentially. She’d spend hours every night with them, tell them the stories she’d read or what she’d learned in school that day. She had these conversations without opening her mouth, because she had to be quiet, see, out of the way. 

Always out of the way. 

It was hard with her long arms and longer legs but she’d mastered the art of folding up in herself to take up as little room as possible. 

That night, on her birthday, her parents had begun arguing. She couldn’t make out the words but knew from their tone that it would be a big one. So she tucked her bear and her rabbit into her frayed pink backpack and clambered to the window. From there, she held tight onto the drainpipe and climbed her way down. It was always best, Valerie had figured out, to get out of the house when the big arguments started. 

Only this night, her usual hiding place had been bordered off by the council so she found herself wandering around the unknown streets. It was dark. So terribly dark. But Valerie wasn’t afraid. 

In fact, as she watched the cats trundle down the streets, fast and far-between, Val found herself drawn in. Her feet strayed from the pavement and soon she walked in the middle of the road, waiting for the next car to come down. 

Eventually she grew tired of walking and sat down, in the road, with her little rabbit and bear and waiting for the hypnotising tranquility of headlights to trick her into a place elsewhere. 

None did. The road stayed empty and Gran found her ten minutes later. 

She’d received a scolding besides the relieved hug and the kisses to her head. 

“ _ You’re a case you, little Val, had me so worried. Let’s get you home, alright? _ ”

Val held her Gran’s hand tightly for the walk back, only breaking from it when Gran popped into McDonald’s to get her a ninety-nine. 

Val hesitated and ice cream trickled onto her small fingers. 

_ “You eat that. Eat all of it. It’s your birthday, go on _ .”

What Val remembered of that ninety-nine is that it was sweeter than even the condensed milk had been. The chocolate was decadent and the wafer was crisp. What Val also remembered was that that was the first time she noticed how her grandmother’s shoes had holes in them. 

Val had pointed, looked up at her Gran, and asked the question with her eyes. 

_ “Oh, hadn’t even noticed—I’ll be poppin’ to Clark’s tomorrow to get a new pair.” _

Val clutched her Gran’s hand for the whole walk home, noted how she limped against the cobbles. 

Gran had wiped her mouth, admired her clean face with a sort of sad grimace, and ran a thumb over her smooth, but prominent cheek bone. 

“ _ Go on, get inside, up the pipe. I’ve got a few words to have with your mother.” _

And so Valerie had hugged her Gran tight and climbed up the drainpipe once more, finding solace in her bed with her bunny and her bear. 

It did well enough to drown out the voices, only fragments could be heard. 

_ “...given you more than enough bloody chances to…” _

_ “...Don’t know anything! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t been a fucking criminal, we wouldn’t have had to live like this...and my daughter wouldn’t have to live this!” _

_ “....Every penny of mine has gone to you! For you! And your daughter!” _

_ “Well it’s not enough! You ruined…” _

_ “I ruined you. Okay, you say that, but look at what you’re doing to your own kid. Soon enough little Val is going to be able to match you tear for  _ bloody tear!”

Nothing much after that, Val recalled, doors slamming were a normal chorus so she fell asleep to the rhythm of that.

The next day, a stranger admired Val with a broken smile.

The day after, that same stranger led Val into the back of a very large car while her mother was held back with a very tall man. 

On the other side of her road, Gran stood. She came to the window, as Val clutched her stuffed animals and blinked in confusion. 

_ “You won’t see me again now, Little Val, but you’ll be well looked after where you’re going _ .”

Gran had pressed a long kiss to the top of her head.

_ “And if anyone gives you any jip, you give it right back. Don’t listen to ‘em, you hear? You have a worth. You’re so special, Little Val, I wish you would see it. _ ”

“ _ Alright, Ms Dyer, thank you, we best be going now.” _

Her Gran had stepped back, mouthing an ‘ _ I love you’ _ to Val as the window was pulled up between them. She didn’t cry. The car engine kicked in. And soon Elsie Dyer and Val’s old life faded into the sky. 

Valerie had turned in her seat, to peer through the back window, and, at five years old uttered her first word:

“ _ Gran _ .”

A car horn blared, jolting Valerie from her reverie. She hastened onto the pavement with an awkwardly apologetic wave. The driver spat out of his window at her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i made the decision to split this up, felt like Val should have her own lil section about her past before we begin repairing relationships. most of the next chap is done so shan’t be a long wait.  
> hope u enjoyed 👻


	18. chapter eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if life gave u an orange would u make lemonade

“Must you begin the day with a musical number?” Trixie lamented from the sofa. 

She lay sort of like Cleopatra. In a silk robe with a face mask on. Perched on the arm, Patsy ate an orange and dropped a segment into Trixie’s mouth. 

Delia, who had tugged the arm chair closer, leaned her head on Patsy’s thigh, shaking a tambourine. 

“I just think that oranges need more appreciation,” Valerie shrugged, rolling the drumsticks over her pride and joy. 

Phyllis had nearly had an aneurysm when little Val at twelve had declared the drums an absolute necessity to learn. 

“It’s true,” Patsy wrinkled her nose. “People sing about lemons all the time—never oranges.”

“Because lemons provide a sort of...tartness. Oranges hardly ever make a cake interesting,” Trixie supplied. “I detest Phyllis’ insistence on adding it to things on the menu.”

“The chocolate orange pain au chocolate is to die for,” Delia provided. 

Trixie rolled her eyes, “You're the only one who eats it, Delia.”

“Exactly and I’m going to marry your pastry chef so it’s staying.”

Val stomped the peddle, “Alright. I have it. One, two, three—“

“Miss?” 

Valerie jumped up, smacking her head on the window. She turned, blinked, and her eyes focused on the ticket inspector. She yanked her headphones from her ears. 

_ It’s funny how nobody sings about oranges— _

“Ticket from Watford Junction?”

Blearily, Val showed him her ticket. He nodded and dispersed. She tucked it away, resting her head once more on the window. The fields grew longer. 

Back in Hempstead, Valerie picked an orange up from the Sainsbury’s Local on the way to Lucille’s house. 

-

  
  


“Tell me what happened, Lu.”

And Lucille had told her. She’d told her everything. From the realisation at the beach at night to the kind boy in her class at school that distracted what couldn’t be. How he got on one knee at the behest of her father. 

How she said yes because there was no other option. 

How she fled in the dead of night because there was no other option. 

How she kept the ring on a chain by her mirror like an icon of her own humility. 

Val listened intently, holding Lucille’s hand tight for the duration. When her history came to a natural, dwindling end, Valerie squeezed Lucille’s hand tightly. 

“Thank you,” She smiled, soft, and ran her thumb over the back of Lucille’s hand. 

Lucille, well, she seemed just about calm. 

But not calm enough. 

‘Course, there’s a very British solution to this. 

Valerie pulled herself up, ignoring Lucille’s inquisitive eyebrow raise, and made her way to the kitchen. 

Lucille let out a laugh as Valerie took the teapot from the cupboard. 

Soon, they moved to the sofa and Valerie handed the freshly brewed tea to Lucille. 

“Making me feel like a guest in my own home,” Lucille smiled, settling in. 

Her knee touched Valerie’s thigh. Shoulders brushed. 

“Nothin’ a good cup of tea can’t fix,” Valerie replied. A moment, and then she added, “Or a ninety nine so I’m keeping an ear out for the ice cream van.”

“Did you have a ninety nine often when you were upset as a child?”

“Just once,” Valerie leaned into Lucille. “But I’ve had a craving for one all day now.”

Lucille nodded. She sipped her tea, and then bit her lip, watching Valerie. 

Waiting. 

Right. 

“I went to London this morning,” Val said, tracing the rim of her mug with her forefinger as she looked down at the black tea. “Spoke to Magda. Saw...Philip. That’s...That’s his name. Philip.”

Lucille gave a small smile, “Like Phyllis?”

Valerie chuckled, shaking her head, “He should be so lucky. It’s tradition in Magda’s family, for the first born son to be called Philip. So that’s what we went with.”

Lucille’s hand found purchase on Valerie’s thigh. Her knee knocked it too. Val was grounded once more by her presence. 

She shifted then, bringing an arm around the side of the sofa, letting her fingers droop painfully close to Lucille’s shoulder. 

“After I came back from the Middle East and we decided to move out here, Magda got back in touch. The bastard left her and...and she was alone and Philip...So I visited. A lot,” Valerie sighed. “Under the pretence of friends and I love that kid, I love him so much. But I...Magda and me would have sex sometimes. Not often. It was killing me.

“So Trix and Pats sat me down and I stopped going. Told Philip I was going away for a while and I’d see him if ever he needed me. ‘s why he calls me Casper. Cause I’m his friendly ghost.”

“That’s adorable,” Lucille leaned into her hand. 

“Prefer the term charming,” Valerie took one of Lucille’s curls, wrapping it around her finger. 

“Incorrigible.”

Valerie bit her lip, “You’re very brave.”

Lucille shook her head, took a long sip of her tea, “Brave would have been to confront myself and my circumstance before it was too late. Brave wouldn't have left in the middle of the night.”

Val disagreed. Franky, the fact she could pull herself from the situation to give herself the chance at freedom was the largest act of bravery she’d ever seen. 

So she told Lucille as much, dragging her finger over her cheek. 

“What happened with Magda?” Lucille asked, her breath hitched. 

Val forced a smile, “Told her I was seeing someone else—that I saw a future with her—so she shut the door in my face. Quite literally.”

“But Phil—“

“I’ll see him again soon,” Valerie shrugged, though not entirely convinced herself. “But I had to be firm. I want you, Lu, and I don’t want to risk what this is because she’s holding him over my head.”

Lucille moved then, set her mug down on the coffee table, and straightened up, “You still want me?”

This beautiful, bloody fool. 

“Of course I do.”

“Even after—“

“Especially after. That is...if you want me too?”

For a moment, nothing passed between them besides silence. And then Lucille grabbed her shirt, in that way she always did, and pulled her in for a kiss. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


Valerie exhaled heavily as she pushed the door to the flat open, the merriment of Lucille’s company only thawing some of the nerves at seeing Trixie once more.

The television was on, some old-timey movie, and Trix and Pats were in the centre of the living room. Patsy sat on one of their dining chairs, and Trixie with a bowl and brush in her hand. They seemed to be in a heated debate.

“What…” Valerie paused, stepping in. “What is going on?”

Trixie paused in her motions, spinning on her heel, “Patsy’s having a breakdown--”

“Hardly a breakdown,” Patsy interrupted with a glare. “I just fancied a change.”

And it was in that moment, with a horrifying realisation, did Valerie see that Trixie was applying  _ bleach _ to Patsy’s hair. 

Definitely a breakdown then. 

“Oh no,” Valerie stepped further into the living room. She had to brace herself on the sofa. “Oh, Pats, oh no no no.”

“Delia broke up with her,” Trixie said frankly. She then continued to apply the bleach to the few strands of persisting ginger. “I felt this was a better option before she suggested giving herself an eyebrow slit or getting a tattoo.”

Valerie blinked, “I guess. But,  _ blonde _ Patsy?  _ Blonde? _ ”

“It’s hardly a stretch from my natural colour,” Patsy regarded, she picked at a hangnail. 

Valerie sighed.

Delia had broken up with her. 

Shit, man.

Val reached over and squeezed Patsy’s arm, “How are you holding up? Besides...this awful decision.”

Patsy forced a small smile to her, “Terribly. Extremely terribly. But it’s of my own doing.”

“It won’t be permanent,” Trixie added. “The bleaching nor the breakup; Delia’s home is here, with us and you, she simply needs some time to…”

“Deal with what I’ve done?” Patsy offered. 

Trixie rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t going to say that but, I suppose in all honesty, yes.”

Valerie ran her thumb over Patsy’s wrist, “Trix is always right about these things.”

Patsy was decidedly not convinced but she patted Valerie’s hand anyway. 

“Val, I never meant…” Trixie started. She set the dye bowl and brush down, decidedly finished painting Patsy’s hair. Her tone was soft, delicate. “I just want—”

“I understand,” Valerie gave a small smile. “And I, Pats and me, we were doing the same.”

“I know.”

Patsy bit her lip, spinning to observe the both of them, “In lieu of sounding a hypocrite and rather out of character, perhaps we should abolish secrets between us? Be...upfront. Honest. From now on.”

Valerie frowned. Not at the suggestion, no, that was a brilliant one. But by the sheer fact Patsy had offered it. 

“I haven’t ever had a family, beyond the tatters I was left at eleven,” Pats continued, rolling her fingers over each other in that nervous sort of tick. She stared at a patch of carpet, ever avoidant of eye contact. Val watched Trixie’s drop to the action—a throat cleared. Patsy carried on, “This entire... _ happenstance _ has made me realise that I simply cannot—will not—lose you two.”

“And Delia,” Trixie added. 

Patsy simply sighed at that, “If such can be recovered.”

“I can’t stand the smell of sandalwood,” Valerie blurted out, referring to the chundering smoke emanating from Patsy’s incense burner. 

Patsy blinked. 

Trixie chuckled, “Me either.”

“Wha…” Patsy gaped between them. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Because it relaxes you, calms you down,” Valerie smiled, leaning over to squeeze Patsy’s shoulder. “But as soon as you go downstairs, I get the febreeze out.”

“I can get—It’s watching the smoke that calms me, I can find another scent,” Patsy shook her head. “I can’t believe you didn’t mention it sooner:”

“I suppose we just love you enough to abide by it,” Trixie beamed. 

Val nodded, “You being comfortable is our number one priority.”

“You live to make me uncomfortable.”

“Only in certain ways,” Valerie sang back. 

“ _ Well _ ,” Trixie said, hands on her hips and looking oddly at Patsy’s head. “In the spirit of absolute honesty, I think I should say that I’ve never done a bottle bleach before.”

Patsy’s eyes bulged, “What?” She spun around to stare at the other woman. “Trixie!”

“I’ve always had someone else do my hair; besides, I’m certain it’ll all be fine,” Trixie smiled far too sweetly. 

“If this goes wrong I’m giving you a bowl cut,” Patsy snarked. 

“You’re standing on ice too thin to make a threat like that, Patience.”

“Bite me, Beatrix.”

Valerie beamed as she watched them. Despite everything, she wouldn’t ever want to be without her Trix and her Pats. They truly were her family. 

And now they could lick their wounds and carry on as the pack of reprobates they’d always been. 

Except there was  _ one _ other secret Valerie had been holding back. 

“If we’re sharing,” Val said. She licked her teeth before wrinkling her nose with nerves. “I had sex with Magda a few months ago. When I went for that dinner? Yes. We hooked up in the back of my car.”

“We know, sweetie,” Trixie offered a soft sort of smile. 

Patsy nodded, “You have….a different air about you after you’ve had sex.”

“Yes. Which is why  _ I  _ got the talk after you lost your virginity at fourteen. Mum and Phyllis knew right away and it was somehow  _ my fault _ for not being more aware.”

Val frowned, “I was definitely sixte—”

Wait.

Ah. 

_ Candice.  _

“Oh yes,” Valerie grinned with nostalgia. “How could I forget that? Opened my eyes she did.”

“I think my right eardrum is still recovering from the yelling that, again,  _ I  _ had to endure,” Trixie lamented. 

“Should’a set a better example, big sis,” Valerie winked. 

Trixie rolled her eyes. She diverted her gaze back to Patsy’s hair, picking up a strand and scratching at the bleach. 

“Looks like it’s turning.”

“Thank the lord,” Patsy grumbled sardonically, huffing with her arms crossed. But there was an...edge to her. A nervousness. 

Val smirked and picked up her phone intending to check in with Lucille. However, that intention was immediately forgotten when Patsy suddenly blurted out:

“Trixie and I had sex.”

Vals thumb hovered over the letter ‘h’ on her keyboard. She blinked. 

“I’m sorry?”

Trixie’s eyes were the widest they’d ever actually been. Patsy was flushed, head bowed, avoiding looking at anything. 

Patsy licked her lips and said, “Trixie and I—We have—yes. Had sex. Um. We’ve slept toge—”

“Patsy stop talking.”

Valerie dragged her gaze from a sheepishly flustered Patsy to her sister who stood behind her. Trixie looked absolutely terrified. Hands clenched together at her stomach, eyes pained. She looked as though she was shaking. 

Pats. Had had sex with. Trix. 

Valerie set her phone down beside her. 

They’d had sex. Honest to god,  _ intercourse _ . The ol’ razzle dazzle. Two finger tango. 

Sex. 

Patsy and Trixie. 

Val blinked again. 

“When?” Was stuttered out, jaw ajar. 

“This—This morning after Delia broke up with me and—”

Trixie hissed, “ _ Patsy _ .”

“A few times over a year—a year ago after Tom and before, um,” Patsy stumbled out. “Delia. But we’re not—We don’t—I don’t  _ love _ Trixie or anything like that. I mean, well, I  _ do _ but not in the way that I love De—Delia.”

Valerie swallowed thickly. 

Okay. More than once. Right. And for a while. Okay. 

Okay. 

Okay. 

A part of Val, quite a huge part, wanted to scream. Or lash out. I mean  _ Patsy and Trixie? Trixie and Patsy? _

What the star-spangled fuck. 

But then, well, hadn’t she resolved, in that conversation with Magda and the following with Lucille, to allow a change in perspective? Trixie and Patsy hadn’t hurt her, that wasn’t their intention, it certainly couldn’t be. She was absolutely resolute in their love for her. One of the only sure things in her life. Being mad at them? What would that serve?

Their actions exposed a deeper distress in both of them that Valerie had been ultimately unaware of this whole time. Or at least the time it first happened. 

“How did,” Valerie cleared her throat. “How did it start?”

Trixie inhaled sharply, seeming to lean lightly away for Patsy. 

Valerie frowned at this, “Trix, it’s okay. I’d just like to know a little more.”

Trixie did not look entirely convinced. 

Val gave her a small, reassuring smile. 

Patsy bit her lip, “You were out one night after Tom and Trixie broke—broke up. And we...just…Went from t—talking to more.”

“Entirely stress relief,” Trixie choked out. “Nothing more than that.”

“Mhmm.”

Valerie glanced between the two, “Just...happened?”

Patsy looked to Trixie, “Well, Trixie…”

Trixie looked to Patsy, “And then Patsy…”

“Got carpet burn to be honest.”

Valerie took pause at that, “Wait...You had sex on the  _ rug _ ?  _ Mums rug _ ?”

A sheepish look from both of them had Valerie covering her mouth in sheer disgust. Her toes curled into the aforementioned rug and, upon the realisation, she yanked her knees up to her chin, falling back into the sofa. 

Patsy simply blinked, “It's been deep-cleaned. Just as the bakery table was this morning.”

Trixie dropped her head into her hands to let out a muffled scream. 

Val’s became one with the floor. 

“ _ YOU HAD SEX ON THE—” _

  
  


-

  
  


“Nomad’s Bakery?” Trixie answered the buzzer with a faux chirp to her voice. She’d been unsettled the whole evening since Patsy’s reveal. 

Patsy and Trixie had sex. 

Jesus. 

“Wonderful, I’ll be right down.”

As Trixie disappeared, Val sharply turned to Patsy. 

“ _ Please _ don’t ask me about fornication with your sister,” Patsy winced, clutching a pillow to her chest. 

On the television, a laugh track rang. 

Valerie smacked her arm, “So the entire time that I was going on about how I don’t think she’s  _ entirely _ heterosexual, you were shaggin’ her?”

“Crude,” Patsy flinched. And then she sighed. “We don’t talk about it. I’m sure if you ask her, she’d still insist that she’s straight. It truly is a...little work out, stress relief. There’s no feelings attached.”

This was bloody weird, mate. 

Valerie just blinked, “Pats, you’re talking and all I can hear is that you’ve been inside my sister.”

“Oh  _ Val _ !” Patsy groaned and threw the pillow at her. “Can we... _ please _ , not discuss this further?”

She looked physically pained. 

Val sighed, “Fine. Just don’t ever do it when I’m home, alright?”

Patsy didn’t reply. 

Oh no.

Oh god. 

Oh sweet Jesus. 

Val blanched. Patsy flushed red. 

The front door slammed shut as Trixie sauntered back in with a carrier bag of Chinese food swinging from her index finger. 

Val shook her disgust away by jumping up to help Trixie get cutlery for the food, fishing out drinks etcetera. 

Patsy didn’t move until Trixie shoved a cardboard box of noodles and chilli beef into her face. She ate slowly. 

“I can’t stop looking at it,” Valerie said around the spring roll shoved ever so elegantly into her mouth. Wide eyes bore into Patsy’s yellow hair. “Is this how the bloody wise men felt? Following the North Star?”

Patsy rolled her eyes, “I can assure you that you’re not a wise man.” 

Valerie chewed obnoxiously, “Seriously, Pats, it’s...Different.” She paused, turned to Trixie. “You into this?”

Trixie set her fork down, and stared stern at Val, “I think it prudent to clarify that I’m not attracted to Patsy - I’m _ straight _ . What we do, did, is simply a bit of fun.”

Val’s mouth stilled. 

The sound of Patsy’s chopsticks clicking nonchalantly echoed. 

“Okay,” Valerie shrugged. 

Trixie huffed. 

Right. 

Sounds healthy. 

Perfectly healthy. 

Val wrinkled her nose, they’d have to have a talk soon. She already dreaded it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friendos sorry for the delay, work unexpectedly exploded into a monumentally busy time, at least for the next few weeks. I’m not much a fan of this but it pops down a few cobble stones of paving reparations. Few more bumps to come.  
> yes patsy is momentarily blonde  
> also here’s the opening song: https://youtu.be/oKadff-P91w


	19. chapter nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia is back, Babs is back, ghosts are back. And Val and Lu watch The Martian.

“This seems like a perfectly normal—” Trixie commented wryly from the computer chair, head half hidden by a magazine. A plain white roll whizzed past her head. “—response to such things.”

Across the bakery, various substances made up of yeast, flour, water, and salt were pelted back and forth with the shear strength of two former army soldiers. 

Well, one soldier and a doctor but not to be pedantic. 

And the doctor was  _ losing _ . 

“There are better ways to solve an argument than by diminishing our savoury roll stock!” was Phyllis’ gruff opinion on the matter. 

But behind her scowl was a warmth—things were truly settling in as they were, even happier than before. 

Val felt the same way to be fair. Even though her only thought in that second was hitting Patsy in the face with a sourdough roll, she was glad that face was back in her life. Despite the awful framing. 

_ Okay _ the blonde wasn’t awful just... _ unnerving _ . 

Extremely unnerving. 

“Admit that you’re wrong!” Patsy called through the window as a bun flew through air and smashed, hard, against Val’s cheek. 

“ _ Not the fennel rolls! _ ” Phyllis cried. 

“But I hate them,” Patsy pouted. 

Val picked it up and threw it back, “ _ You’re  _ wrong!”

“How about you’re both wrong and we can all carry on with our day?” Trixie offered. 

“But Patsy is especially wrong!”

“No Val is!”

Phyllis let out a huff, “If I’d have known I’d still be dealing with children, I might have been inclined to stay in the West Indies much longer!”

“Now Phyllis,” Patsy said crisply. “This is a perfectly adult way of dealing with Valerie being completely wrong.”

She threw a roll that landed smack bang in Val’s eye. 

“OW!”

“WRONG!”

The bell above the door tinkled. Trixie looked up from her magazine. Val’s arm stopped in the air. 

“So everything’s back to normal, I see,” Delia smirked, tone bright and suitcase in hand. 

She set the suitcase on the floor to settle her hands on her hips. 

“Delia!” 

Val’s first instinct, which was probably entirely not what she should have done, was to look quickly to Trixie. Her sister had dropped her magazine and jumped up, rushing over to Delia to give her a tight hug. 

Valerie bit her lip. 

It had been a month of the whole thing sitting in her head. She’d garnered more from stilted conversations, Patsy’s hushed whisperings and Trixie’s occasional nod or head shake. 

It was still...peculiar to her but it made sense.

She figured. 

She’d found salvation in sex with strangers, surely, it made sense for Pats and Trix to be the same. Only with each other. 

On the  _ rug.  _

_ And the table.  _

Valerie shivered and watched as Trixie squeezed Delia. 

No one knew. That was a clause of whatever sort of agreement they’d stumbled into after the first dalliance following Trixie and Tom’s traumatic breakup. Valerie wasn't to know. Tom wasn't to know. Phyllis, the Nuns, absolutely nobody. 

So Delia didn’t know either which, given that the fornication apparently stopped a few days after Delia toddled into their lives, Val could understand. 

But now…

Not that she could judge, of course, Magda and Trixie and Lucille and Delia. Apples and oranges really. 

Delia rubbed Trixie’s back and pulled away, sending Val a bright smile. 

“Pats in the kitchen?” She asked, vague. 

Patsy stepped up to the window, sheepish, and gave a little wave. 

“Hi, old thing.”

Regardless of whatever transpired between them that long month ago (Pats was hardly a Hemingway with details and Trix could only eavesdrop fragments), Delia’s smile widened and she waved back. 

As though it was a cue, a grin broke on Patsy’s face and she bounded out of the kitchen and scooped Delia up in her arms. 

Bless. 

“I’m sorry,” Patsy mumbled, just in ear shot. “I love you. I missed you.”

Delia pulled back, moving her arms to rest her hands on Patsy’s chest, clutching her shirt

“You’re blonde,” She smiled softly, turning a loose strand around her finger as her hand brushed Patsy’s cheek. 

Patsy gave a shrug, “I...fancied a change.”

Delia bit her lip, “I don’t...It’s  _ different _ .”

“I hate it.”

“We  _ all _ do,” Trixie offered as she returned to her seat and her magazine. 

“I’ll go—Um, to the salon—right now,” Patsy moved to leave but was tugged in place by Delia’s ridiculous strength. “Get it fixed.”

Delia shook her head and rocked on her feet, “There’s other things to fix first.”

“Yes. Right. Certainly. Shall we…?”

Delia nodded now, “I had my time. I think...that there are things we need to talk about, things you need to tell me, and then we can see about…”

Patsy’s eyes lit up, “Do you mean it?”

“Honesty, Patsy, I need that from you.”

“Well, we—it was my idea, actually—have decided that we’re going to be completely honest, always, to each other and I,” Patsy swallowed thick. “Hoped to...Hoped that you would come back. So I could do the same with you. No more secrets, no more...I will tell you every little thing about me.”

Delia stewed in that for a moment, absorbing Patsy’s hope, enthusiasm, downright honesty. 

Patsy, it looked like, was trying her best to keep her eyes paired with Delia’s. Even if it sent her foot tapping and hand clenching. 

Val itched away from the pair, feeling like she’d infringed enough, collecting fallen rolls as she did. She settled in her usual chair beside Trixie. 

She watched her; how she flicked through the magazine perfectly normally. Like nothing—

“Valerie,” Trixie said pointedly. 

Right. 

The mumblings of the conversation grew into a more usual volume, clearly the important stuff was finished with. They started to move closer to the counter. 

Delia slid her hand in Patsy’s. 

Val heaved a sigh of relief and began to make herself a coffee. 

Thank G—

“Did you sleep with Trixie again?”

Vogue hit the floor. 

Val knocked the steam wand, sending a screech of steam roaring out of it. She slammed it off. 

Patsy blinked, looked at the floor, looked at Trixie, and then faced Delia:

“Yes. Once. The afternoon after you left. But then we dyed my hair and decided that we shouldn’t do it again.”

Trixie’s eyes bulged. She looked faint. She steadied herself with her hand on the counter. 

Valerie couldn’t find it within her to school her features into anything other than shock. 

_ Delia knew _ . 

_ Delia.  _

_ Knew.  _

Suddenly Valerie yearned the pouring espresso shots to be whiskey. Or vodka. Or straight up arsenic. Because there was absolutely no way she was prepared to be involved in this conversation. 

Delia glanced between them all, and inhaled sharply—

Oh no. 

Pats was going to get her heartbroken. Trixie was going to be eviscerated. Val was going to be cleaning up blood and tears for weeks. 

—“So Trix still hasn’t told Barbara how she feels then?”

_ Delia knew _ .

Trixie gaped, flapping. She looked mighty uncomfortable.

The coffee machine creaked as the shots stopped pouring. Valerie didn’t move.

Patsy bit her lip, “Still a bit of a snag with that.”

“Delia, I…” Trixie stuttered out in an entirely out of character sort of speechlessness. She stared at Patsy. “What...What is happening?”

Delia sat down on one of the barstools, completely naturally, nonplussed. But was she though? Valerie couldn’t figure.

Patsy looked sheepish but then Patsy always looked sheepish. 

What the bloody hell was going on?

“You--You know?” Valerie asked, voice pitched high. 

Delia bobbed her head, a frank shrug, “Pats told me, as a...placeholder for not telling me about her childhood. She said, ‘can I not tell you another secret instead?’ and I asked her what it was. And she told me.”

Trixie expressed a wince, then tilted her head sharply to Patsy, “You told me Delia couldn't know.”

Patsy wrinkled her nose, “I really just...didn’t want this conversation.”

Trixie set her jaw, “There’s a lot of things I could say to you right now, Patience.”

Delia reached over, finding Trixie’s hand and squeezing it, “It’s okay, Trixie. Really it is.”

Trixie shook her head, pulled her hand back, “It’s not. You--She--You’re my friend, Delia. We shouldn’t have--You’d only just broken up.”

“But we’d broken up,” Delia gave a small smile. “And I know that you and Pats aren’t...You’re not  _ in love _ , you’re not going to--Sometimes we just need sex.”

“Amen,” Valerie interjected.

Patsy cleared her throat, “Anyway, that’s done. I’m assuming that you and Lucy also had…?”

Delia chucked, “Almost. I cried. It was...uncomfortable.”

Patsy squeezed her shoulder.

“Who,” Trixie paused. “Who is Lucy?”

“My ex-girlfriend, ex-roommate, best friend,” Delia smiled, straightening up in her chair. “Although I don’t think ex-girlfriend is the focal mantle here considering we broke up when we were fifteen.”

“Childhood sweetheart?” Val asked. 

“Mhm. Much better suited as friends but,” Delia shrugged. “Needs must sometimes.”

“She’s really rather lovely—Delia was living with her until she moved here,” Patsy added. “I do miss her.”

“Well, she’s not best pleased with you right now, Pats,” Delia informed, dark.

Patsy grimaced, “Understandable, really.” 

“You disappeared for three weeks, didn’t tell me about being  _ kidnapped  _ as a child, and as soon as I broke up with you to give us time to think about what we wanted, you jumped into bed—“

“On the baking table,” Val butted in because she simply had to. 

“—jumped on the  _ baking table  _ with your former friend with benefits,” Delia said all of this with a disarming frankness, tinged with a hint of sour. 

Lemons. 

Ha. 

“Just to clarify here, I don’t  _ want _ Trixie,” Patsy said meekly. 

“The sentiment is returned,” offered Trixie. 

“At some point you  _ bloody  _ did,” Delia retorted crisply. 

Val inspected a very interesting speck of dust on the coffee machine. 

Trixie found the fluttering birds outside really rather riveting. 

“Deels—“

“That’s how Lucy sees it anyway.”

“Well, Lucy seemed just as eager to get you into bed so I’d hardly say she’s allowed an—”

Delia cut her off, “Lucy doesn’t know about the tree, Pats, and she's my oldest friend.”

Patsy seemed to still at that, swallowing thickly. 

Tree? Val frowned, but continued to polish the machine. 

“I don’t care that you had  _ sex _ with Trixie,” Delia sighed, shaking her head. “I really truly don’t. I care that you know things about me that I’ve never told my closest friends or my family but I only know as much about you as Trixie and Valerie.”

“It’s self-preservation, Delia, the same way you haven’t told Lucy or your mother and father about the tree.”

“But I told you.”

“And that’s your prerogative,” Patsy replied coolly. “I told you everything that I remembered about what happened when I was eleven the morning you left. There’s a few more things that I’ve left to tell you but I  _ will _ tell Valerie and Trixie too because they’re the only family I have left and they deserve to know.”

Delia closed her eyes in consideration. 

“I see you in my future, Delia,” Patsy said, hands finding Delia’s arms and her tone soft and hopeful. “If you’re willing, one day I see you as my wife. But Valerie and Trixie will be there too. And we’ll know everything about each other and love each other regardless because we’re all this...this little nomad family.”

Val didn’t even bother pretending not to be listening now. Trixie neither. They shared a soft smile. Val squeezed her shoulder. 

Delia sighed once more and looked up at Patsy, glancing over to Valerie and Trixie too. 

“So long as Trixie doesn’t mention shagging you in her maid of honour speech—my poor mam’ll have a heart attack.”

Patsy beamed, nodding enthusiastically. 

“I love you,” Delia moved her arm so as to lace her fingers with Patsy’s. She looked at Val and Trixie too. “I love all three of you fools.”

“We love ya too, Deels,” Valerie replied, grinning, and throwing an arm around Trixie’s shoulders. 

“Insurmountably,” Trixie added. 

Delia smiled, “No more sex with Patsy though, alright?”

Trixie smirked, “No need to worry, we’ve firmly decided it’s not for us anymore. And If it helps, she said your name when she came.”

Val smacked her head on the coffee machine, “I don’t want to be here.”

“You were the first one to kiss her,” Delia teased.

Patsy choked on a breath, “Quite.”

Valerie grunted, her head still against the coffee machine and waved dismissively. 

“Isn’t she wonderful?” Delia smirked at Trixie, who’d recovered her magazine. 

Trixie sort of quirked her head in thought, “Not the worst, certainly not the best—but then she is lacking in things I usually require.”

Absolutely nobody bought that for a second but Trixie’s well-kept yet awfully constructed paper maché mask of pure heterosexuality remained fixed in place. 

Patsy rolled her eyes to divert the conversation from Trixie’s glower, “ _ Moving on _ , Deels, shall we continue our conversation upstairs?”

“Don’t you have baking to do?”

And that was when Phyllis appeared, suddenly, perfectly on time, at the window, “Patsy seems to be finished for the day now, unless another late order is to come in. I was actually going to request Valerie’s presence, we’re getting her more involved.”

“I  _ am _ involved,” Valerie retorted. “Pastry just doesn’t make sense to me—it’s too precise, who has time for that?”

She said this in the middle of her bakery. 

Delia chuckled, “Well, let’s go have that talk Pats.”

“Not on the  _ sofa _ !” Trixie called after them.

“Don’t be a hypocrite!” was Delia’s retort. 

“We’re just  _ talking _ !” Patsy called. 

“ _ Bullshit _ !”

The door up to the flat shut. Valerie turned to Trixie. 

Trixie looked up from her magazine once more, “Don’t.”

“On the  _ sofa _ ?!”

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The afternoon with Phyllis was exactly as the other afternoons had been. Perfectly pleasant. A lot of scolding. Both verbally and of Valerie’s skin with a hot dish she’d stupidly picked up. 

Valerie was washing up when she turned to Phyllis, “Do you think they’ll be alright? Pats and Delia?”

Phyllis looked up from her rolodex of stock taking, eyeing Val over the rims of her glasses, “Losing a member of one’s family has always had the potential to shake a new outlook on life — I believe the first time it happened it shook her the wrong way, this instance seems to have shaken her positively. .”

“She hated him,” Val replied, scrubbing a persistent piece of burnt batter. “He was as good as dead to her anyway.”

“Yet he wasn’t  _ actually _ ,” Phyllis sighed and plucked her glasses from her head. “She’s the last of her blood now, it’s a difficult instance to reconcile with. But she’s growing well from it, between her...newfound honesty and drive to, frankly; be better; I believe she’s becoming the woman that she’s destined to be, the one that Delia needs her to be.”

“Oddly soppy for you, Phyllis, been on the Lorca again?” Valerie smirked, though it was empty really. 

Something began niggling at her. 

Phyllis adjusted her glasses, returned to her Rolodex, “No. Though I will admit I am glad to see everything being as it should, I didn’t much enjoy the fighting between you all.”

“Sorry,” Valerie said earnestly. The batter still wasn’t moving, regardless of how hard she shrugged. 

Phyllis stopped her own actions once more, “Are you trying to erode that dish to smithereens?” 

“Burnt bit won’t come off.”

Phyllis watched for a few long moments before sighing and setting her cards down. “Valerie.”

“Nearly got it.”

“Valerie.”

Val huffed and set the dish in the sink, “Do you think my mum is dead?”

Phyllis considered, and then, “My sister died over ten years ago.”

“No, I know,” Valerie turned to her aunt. She picked at the back of her hands. “I meant my birth mum, I...Do you think she’s dead?”

Phyllis ran her tongue over her teeth, seeming to contemplate something before she stepped closer to Valerie. 

“She isn’t.”

Her tone was definite. Certain. 

Val frowned, “How do you know?”

“Because she still writes to me every month asking how you are,” Phyllis said. “Has done since you were adopted.”

Oh. 

Valerie picked harder, “Oh. I didn’t...I didn’t know.”

“You never asked,” Phyllis said softly, reaching over to cover Val’s hands with her’s. She gave them a squeeze. “When you turned eighteen we, your mother and I, mutually agreed that should you ever ask, we would give you her information.”

Valerie looked down at their conjoined hands and bit her lip, “She still writes?”

“Yes.”

“What do you tell her?”

“Enough,” Phyllis said this firmly. “Not too much, because she doesn’t deserve to know—”

“Well—“

“She doesn’t,” Her voice left no room to argue. “She knows you’re very smart, that you were in the army, and now that you own a bakery. She knows that you’re happy and loved—always have been.”

Happy is subjective but Val couldn’t argue with loved. 

“I can give you her information, if you’d like,” Phyllis smiled. 

Valerie eyed her aunt for a moment, earnest, “I don’t know. I’ll...I’ll have to think about it.”

“Okay.”

Phyllis patted her hands and stepped back, returning to her rolodex. 

Valerie returned to the dishes. 

She asked, “What about Trixie? Does her mum write?”

“That’s for Trixie to ask about.”

  
  


-

  
  


“Are you going to get in contact with her?” Lucille asked, taking the large bowl of popcorn and cradling it into her chest. 

She was curled up on her sofa, in one of Valerie’s baggy jumpers, absolutely shattered after a long shift. A shift that went even longer when one of the mothers on her list decided to go into labour early. 

Valerie dropped down beside her, setting the wine glasses and bottle of red on the coffee table. 

“I don’t know,” She heaved a sigh. 

Truthfully she didn’t. 

Val shifted. She tugged Lucille closer, so the other woman was essentially curled on her lap, and pressed an earnest kiss to her head. 

Lucille pressed into her, “What are you thinking?”

Valerie ran her fingers up and down Lucille’s back, the other hand resting on her thigh, “I don’t even remember what she looks like. It’s all sort of...hazy. Like I’m seeing it through thick, warped glass happening to someone else and not me. I know it did but...I only really remember my Gran. She was the only one who...Well, she was the only one who never told me I was in the way.”

“Precious,” Lucille sighed, lifting her head to press a kiss to Val’s jaw. Val leaned into it. “Would it bring you peace? If you spoke to her?”

“Did it for you?”

Lucille paused for a moment, “It did. But I left of my accord, on account of myself. You were taken because of their lack of care.” 

Her fingers ran delicately over Val’s home, calming and thrilling her all at once. 

“I don’t know,” Valerie sighed once more. “I really don’t know, Luc.”

Lucille dragged her fingers up to Valerie’s cheek and observed her, “Then how about we put the movie on and you can distract yourself from it for a little while?”

Val grinned, turned her head to press a light kiss to Lucille’s fingers. “Sounds wonderful, darlin’.”

And so Lucille pulled away to load up  _ The Martian— _

(“He grows potatoes in  _ space _ ! I can’t believe you’ve never seen this!” “Me neither, I love a spud and all spud based media.” “Shall I leave you alone with Mr Potato Head?” “Mrs, but please go ahead.”)

—which of course they only got about ten minutes into before Lucille had decided there were more pressing matters than Matt Damon’s budding botany endeavour; namely Val’s pulse point and how her lips wanted to suck on it. 

Things escalated at an alarmingly rapid rate as they had been doing over the past several weeks, with Valerie’s hands tugging on Lucille’s hair as the latter nipped and dragged her teeth down the collar of Valerie’s neck and over her collarbone. 

Valerie couldn’t resist her other hand, palming at Lucille’s chest and Lucille’s own hands gripped her thighs hard. A strangled moan left her throat as Lu bit just a tad too hard. 

But in a good way. 

In a  _ great _ way. 

And then Lu had moved some more, had slotted herself between Valerie’s unwittingly parted legs, had slid off the sofa and kneeled between them. 

“Oh god.”

“Oh lord.”

“Oh fuck.”

Lucille just smirked, a bright grin, as her fingers found the button of Val’s jeans and Matt Damon got lost in the storm. 

Poor fella. 

The button popped and Lucille dragged the zipper down with a painful ease. Valerie’s hips keened into her, entirely willing, entirely desperate. 

“Is this okay?” Lucille still asked. 

Valerie couldn’t give less of a shit about looking too eager and nodded excitedly, “Yes. Perfect. Wonderful.”

Lucille laughed again and pressed a kiss to Val’s thigh. 

“Alright,” She drawled. 

Now, more often than not, Val wasn't all too fussed about being on the receiving end—if you catch her drift. No, for Val, she had a preference for giving. She supposed most her early life was about never making a fuss of her own needs so it only made sense. 

But Lucille…

Well, Lucille had cared for her, cherished her. Lucille actually wanted to know what Val’s needs were in the emotional and physical sense of the word. So for Lu, Val let herself need. 

Lu hooked her fingers under Val’s boy shorts (entirely unsexy) and Val lifted her hips to free them. Lucille pressed hot, wet kisses against her stomach, dragging her tongue along with them and swirling it over her navel—

“ _ Fuck _ .”

—as she steadily drew Val’s underwear down her legs. 

Yearning, panting, frantic, Val watched as Lucille, eyes fixed on her own, leaned forward and—

“You will never  _ believe _ the day I’ve ha—AH!”

Barbara’s screech shot like an arrow through the moment and pierced every sweet ounce of perfection that was a grasp away. 

Valerie grabbed the nearest cushion to maintain her dignity, Lucille stared at the ceiling, and the crossbow wielder herself was staring at the framed toucan print on the wall. 

“I am  _ so sorry _ , I didn’t—I completely forgot that you were coming over tonight, Val, I just—I need to get dinner and I’ll be upstairs and—and out of your way.”

Since her break up with Tom, which Val  _ may _ have done an excited jump about, Barbara had appeared a little more frequently in their date evenings. She was terribly distraught by it, kept referring to the good reverend as a rat and occasionally burst into tears at the mention of the Holy Father’s name—because...memories? Val reasoned. So they let her in, because Babs couldn’t be alone and Trixie, well, Trixie wasn’t picking up. 

Val had told her sister about the development in the kitchen one morning. Trixie simply ignored her and showed Patsy a new recipe in The New York Times on her iPad. 

(NYT did recipes? Who would have thought?)

Val nudged Lucille with her foot, garnering her attention away from the light shade. They shared a passing glance to Babs. 

Lucille nodded, reached over and slid Val’s shorts and jeans back up. 

“Don’t worry, Barbara, we’ve got popcorn and pizza is on its way,” Valerie called, adjusting herself and fixing the button on her jeans. 

“Really, guys, it’s no bother, I can just—“

“We got ham and pineapple just for you,” Lucille added. She dropped back next to Val on the sofa. “You can turn around now.”

Barbara turned to them, a sad, slightly distressed smile at her lips, “Sorry. Again.”

“‘S fine,” Val waved off, although the painful throb between her legs begged to differ. She itched away from Lucille ever so slightly. 

Lucille did the same, shifting to the other end of the couch. 

Barbara perched between them, “Good that you’re getting closer to having sex though. And without Valerie dropping any love declarations too.”

Val cleared her throat, “Mhm. Have you heard from Trixie yet?” Valerie asked, her sister having been completely shtum on the whole situation. 

Barbara shook her head, lip caught between her teeth, “It’s been a month, I…” She forced a smile. “But I’m sure I’ll see her again soon. She probably still needs time.”

Barbara then immersed herself in the great starch of salvation and Valerie shot Lucille a concerned look. Lucille returned it. 

  
  


-

  
  


“Sorry about Barbara,” Lucille leaned on the doorframe as Val stepped out into the brisk September air. 

Val shook her head, tightening her jacket around herself, “Sorry about Trixie. I know she’s...She’s struggling, I think, with her feelings. But getting her to talk about them is like pulling water from stone.”

“Have you done that?” Lucille smiled, raising an eyebrow. 

“Water from a stone? Yeah. Got a drop before Trixie finally confessed she was pissed at me for enlisting,” Valerie sighed. 

She stepped forward, back in Lucille’s space, and tugged on her cardigan, bringing her closer. 

Lucille licked her lips, placed her hands on Val’s chest, “I think I’d be pretty pissed if you decided to up and leave now, Valerie Dyer.”

Val squeezed Lucille’s hips, “Lu?”

“Mhm?”

Valerie bit her lip, and then moved to rummage around in her pocket. She placed a crisply folded ten pound note in Lucille’s hand. 

Lucille rolled her eyes, and unfurled the note. 

Scribbled on it read: 

_ Will you be my girlfriend? x _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u enjoyed!! I wasn’t planning on updating so soon but Delia sort of marched into my head and was like “I want to give my opinion now” so I let her.   
> Things are settling in this new equilibrium but theres still so much more to come. thank y’all for ur continued support I appreciate it all sm I love this universe a lot and I’m glad I can share it with u guys


	20. chapter twenty

“Absolutely not,” was Patsy’s disgruntled drawl as her and Delia stepped up into the flat a few days later. 

The door closed. 

“I think we should,” Delia offered. “Frankly it makes no sense to me that we haven’t yet.”

“That’s all well and good but I don’t see how it could possibly benefit any—“

Valerie was happily enjoying her late evening bowl of Rice Krispies at the breakfast bar when Patsy and Delia came to an astute stop behind her. 

“I thought we got rid of it,” Patsy groaned, pushing past into the kitchen and into the drugs drawer.

She tossed back an antihistamine with a grimace and stared at the cat currently lapping up milk from Val’s bowl. 

A grumpy, long haired ginger cat with occasional speckles of white. 

Trixie had returned on Wednesday with a persistent cat in tow. And then the same on Thursday. And Friday. She’d been on her evening jog when the cat had appeared before her, and since then, well, she couldn’t get rid of it. The cat just stuck to her. 

“Trix took her to the vets,” Val supplied. “No chip. No report of missing cats. Said they could take her to a cats and dogs home or we could keep her.”

Val didn’t mind. They’d had this chunky old ragdoll cat growing up that was already old when they’d moved to Brighton with mum, which lasted another ten years on top of that. He was feisty, playful, and kept Val company while she worked her way through the intimidatingly tall bookcase. Felt good to have a pet around again.

Patsy, on the other hand, had broken out in a slew of hives up and down her arms and declared the cat a being of the devil. 

Trixie threw a box of Bendadryl at her and considered her argument redundant. 

“And we’re keeping it?!” Patsy huffed. 

Delia had already perched next to Val, scratching the ears of the cat. 

“Mhm,” Val continued to eat her cereal. “Trix bought her a collar and everything. She is officially the Nomads cat.”

Patsy peered over, and then let out an exasperated sigh. She pinched her nose in pure distress, “Tell me that that cat is  _ not _ wearing. Burberry collar.”

“Top of the line,” Val bobbed her head. “Anything for Patricia here.”

“ _ Patricia? _ ” Patsy spat in disbelief. 

“It’s like Patsy and Catsy,” Delia swooned. The cat pressed herself right into Delia’s hand. 

Patsy sighed, “No. I’m putting my foot down, we’re not doing that. Nope. Not happening.”

Patricia simply continued to rub herself along Delia’s arm. 

Valerie raised her eyebrows, “She’s making moves.”

“Bloody feline,” Patsy grumbled, flicking the kettle on. “Tea?”

“Always,” Valerie grinned. 

Patsy swung Val’s mug — a novelty one with boobs all over it — around her thumb before setting it down on the counter. 

The water began to bubble. 

Pats fidgeted with the box of teabags. 

“Deels?” Patsy asked, turning. “Tea?”

But Delia didn’t respond. Val looked at her. She was still, the cat having scampered away, unnerving still. Her jaw moved as though she was chewing and her eyes slipped in focus. 

Oh shit. 

“Delia, you alright?” Val leaned over to nudge her hand. 

Patsy moved quickly, “Seizure.”

The box of teabags hit the ground. 

Delia dropped, her whole body losing any rigidity, she fell from the stool and towards the floor. 

“Delia!” 

Val moved to grab her but Patsy was quicker, catching her girlfriend before she could hit the floor. 

Three loud pops reverberated around the apartment. 

Val furrowed her eyebrows—sounded familiar but she couldn’t quite figure…

Patsy, face contorted in agony, sat Delia up, hand on her back, the other stroking her cheek. 

“Valerie, can you get me some water, please?” Patsy managed to force out, blinking hard. 

“Pats, are you—“ 

“The water, Valerie,  _ please _ ,” Patsy wheezed out, cradling Delia close. 

Shit. 

As Valerie busied herself with the glass of water, and generally calming herself down—

(She was fully aware of Delia’s seizures but had never been in the witness of one herself; it was unsettling, distressing. Her hands shook as she shut the tap off.)

—Trixie appeared out of the bathroom with billowing smoke curling around her ankles. Hair in a towel, fluffy dressing gown on, looking thoroughly at peace. 

She was inspecting her cuticles when her eyes dropped to Valerie kneeling besides Delia and Patsy. 

All peace was shattered. 

“Shall I call an ambulance?” Trixie asked, moving right beside them. 

Patricia mewled from the sofa. 

Patsy shook her head, “Not yet,” Her finger continued to trail up and down Delia’s cheek. “If she doesn’t wake up in three minutes then yes, please.”

Val swallowed hard, the glass heavy in her hands, “Shouldn’t she be, like, jittering and stuff? Isn’t that what, uh, this is?”

“Not always, Val,” Trixie said sadly. 

“Delia, she...Sort of stops,” Patsy mumbled. Her eyes didn’t move from Delia’s face. “Most important thing is to make sure she doesn’t hit her head.”

“Pats, you’re crying,” Val said softly.

“It’s just...seeing her like this…” Patsy replied, voice cracking. 

Trixie kneeled beside her, “You sound hurt. Are you okay, Patsy?”

Before Patsy could provide her assumed answer of ‘I’m fine’, Delia let out a groan. Her eyes squeezed tight together before she blinked them open. Unfocused for a moment, she moved her hand to Patsy’s chest, gripping her shirt. 

“Hi,” Patsy whispered. 

Delia coughed lightly, returning to herself, “Hi.”

Patsy took the water from Valerie, helping Delia to sip from it. “You had a seizure. Only a small one but you gave Valerie here quite a scare.”

“Little bit,” Val gave a bright smile. 

“Sor—“

“Don’t you go apologising now,” Trixie interrupted her with a pointed stare. 

Delia smiled tiredly, yet embarrassment lingered, “Did I…?”

“No,” Patsy handed the glass back to Val and pulled Delia closer to her. “You’re okay. How are you feeling?”

Delia licked her lips and then squinted, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Patsy.”

Patsy shook her head, “I’m—“

“You’re not,” Valerie said frankly. 

“Exactly.”

Delia simply stared at her, “Patsy?”

Patsy inhaled sharply. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


“Ms Mount---”

“It’s Doctor Mount, actually.”

Valerie’s general dislike for hospitals had sort of faded a bit as her relationship with Lucille had grown. She would drop off, pick up, or meet her girlfriend for lunch breaks at the bloody place, and although it wasn’t exactly comfortable, she tolerated the environment a lot more than she had done. 

But this wasn’t the maternity ward or the cafeteria. 

This was a clinical room, awful yellow walls and even more awful diagrams put up everywhere, in the godforsaken surgical department with a cocky surgeon leaning back in his chair and waving his hand dismissively. 

“You’ve undone years of work,” Doctor Up-Himself (for Valerie had not even bothered to learn the arsehole’s name) said. 

Patsy simply shrugged, “It was necessary.”

Doctor Up-Himself simply blinked at her, “I don’t see how anything can be worth it.”

“My epileptic girlfriend was falling from the chair, I had to catch or she could have hit her head,” Patsy gave him an equal amount of indifference. 

Valerie squirmed in her seat. 

“It was an instinct. To protect her.”

“How awfully selfless,” The doctor drawled. He learned forward, crossing his hands on the desk in front of him. “I’ll be honest with you---”

“Severe damage to both extensor and flexor tendons obtained in a crush injury that substantially fractured the bone of the hand was already bad enough,” Patsy cut him off coolly, and with nothing but a frankness to her tone. “Retearing the tendons has resulted in complete immobility in the hand once again and, due to the fact that this is a second tearing, has increased the likelihood of me never regaining motion in the hand again.”

Valerie swallowed thickly, her hand coming to rest on Patsy’s thigh to give a reaffirming squeeze. 

Doctor Up-Himself stared her down and then turned to Valerie, “You the girlfriend?”

Val opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by Patsy’s declaration:

“No. She’s my sister. My girlfriend is at home recovering,” She stood then. “Shall I walk myself to the hospital bed or would you rather guide me?”

Doctor Up-Himself also stood, “I’ll get one of the nurses to prep you for theatre.”

“Wonderful.”

He sighed, casting his stare to Valerie, “Miss Mount, your sister will be in surgery for several hours; perhaps you’d rather return home and collect her—“

“It’s Miss Dyer,” Valerie smiled sardonically, jumping to her feet. “And I think I’m going to wait with Pats—traumatic injury and that, would want her feeling  _ cared _ for.”

Doctor Up-Himself huffed. 

Valerie threw a wink to Patsy. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


Patsy twisted her wrist, stretched and contracted her elbow, as she admired her left hand with a sort of frown. 

It had frozen, her hand, in some kind of loose claw shape. The top knuckle of her ring finger bent further inwards and her pinky finger pulled back. Val thought it looked stuck in the way your hand looks playing a chord on the guitar. 

It seemed like she was willing it, Patsy, like she was willing her hand to move, creak back into the fluidity she’d so nearly achieved. 

As annoying as he was, the doc wasn’t wrong about the damage done. 

Least this time, Val reckoned, the bone and skin was all fine—she wouldn’t have that awful cage this time. Boy was  _ that _ a struggle for everyone involved. 

“The kitchen will need adjustments again,” Patsy mumbled, twisting her wrist once more. “After it’s healed from the surgery, I’ll be able to use it in a very limited capacity. My wrist is fine so I can use it to bear weight or knead maybe. I could—“

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Valerie moved from the plastic chair to sit beside Patsy on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“The painkillers are—“

“Pats.”

Patsy sighed, setting her hand down and reaching for Valerie with her other, “Delia didn’t hit her head.”

“You keep saying that but—“

“I’ve been through this before, it’s hardly a new...fear of mine to lose complete mobility,” Patsy gave that small, fishhook smile. “And Delia being okay is the most  _ essential _ part of it all.”

“You were going to retrain,” Val shook her head. “Become a GP—“

“I can still do that. There’s no rules saying you can’t practice with a disability, Valerie, I just simply don’t want to,” Patsy said. 

Valerie frowned, shifting slightly, “But that’s what you said your plan was, back in Brighton; you said that—“

“Val,” Patsy cut her off, earnest. She squeezed her hand. “Things change.”

“But—“

“I love my life now. Where it is. Who’s in it. I love what I do,” Pats beamed. “It’s not the life I ever planned but...It’s the one I need. The one that I’m supposed to have.”

Val looked down at their joined hands before gazing back up at Patsy’s soft, determined face. Honest. Genuine. Everything they’d promised to each other. 

Her best friend had been through so much, had lost so much throughout her life and continued to do so even now. Patsy had been seeing the horrors of the world since the hood was pulled off her head in that dingy basement in Hong Kong at eleven years old. Since then she had been fighting. She had faced her terrors, her fears, battled them and faced the outcome strong and unwavering. 

Patsy hadn’t been allowed a reprieve from her battles for she waged them every day, every night, and would continue to do so until her last breath. 

Valerie felt her throat tighten, constricting at Patsy’s display of affection and admiration for the woman herself. She nodded, once, then moved to rest her head on Pats’ shoulder. 

“Love you, Mount.”

“Love you, Dyer.”

Through Patsy, Val found her strength. And she knew, in that moment, with Patsy pulling her in close, what she needed to do. 

  
  


-

  
  


“Thank you, Phyllis...Yeah, I’ll phone you back in a few hours...Alright. I love you. Bye, bye.”

Valerie shoved her phone back into her jacket pocket and leaned against the cool brick wall of the hospital. Between her fingers, a cigarette continued to burn. She brought it to her lips and sighed. 

“I thought I’d find you here.”

That familiar drawl cued a grin to break out on Val’s face. 

“Hi.”

Lucille smirked, “Hi.”

Val stubbed her cigarette out — Lucille wasn’t a fan — and brought her girlfriend into a tight hug. 

Lucille wrapped her arms around her waist, squeezing her tightly, as she pressed a light kiss to her neck. Val smiled, nuzzling into her hair and expelling a happy sigh. 

She pulled back too soon, “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Frances said she saw you in A & E with a blonde,” Lucille frowned, hands on Val’s hips. “Trixie?”

“Patsy,” Val rolled her eyes. “She’s going ginger again next week, thank  _ god _ .”

Lucille's eyebrows furrowed, “Is she alright?”

“Snapped all the tendons in her hand again,” Valerie said. Lucille’s gasp made it clear she understood the implications. Val shook her head. “Delia was having a seizure, fell off her chair, Pats caught her so she wouldn’t hit her head. Too much weight or--or sudden movement or something. The doctor seems to think the damage is irreparable.”

“Oh,” Lucille swallowed hard and leaned on the wall beside Valerie, “So she’ll be completely…?”

Valerie bobbed her head, “She’s accepted it. She’s fine with it. I thought maybe it could be shock or...you know what Pats can be like--” She had informed Lucille of the numerous instances of Patsy’s lack of self-care. “--But she’s...yeah, she’s accepted it.”

“Are you  _ sure _ ?” Lucille pressed.

Now usually Val would err on the side of caution when it came to putting confidence in Patsy’s positivity. But this time, it was different. Patsy was different. Patsy didn’t hide feelings anymore. 

“Yes,” Val turned, learning on the wall on her side to appreciate Lucille properly. “When do you finish?”

Lucille closed her eyes over, “In two hours. But I’ve got to sign off some papers for Frances’ module. Will you still be here?”

“Mm, Phyllis asked if I wanted to go home, she’d bring Trix but...I’m going to stay. Just in case.”

“Charming,” Lucille opened one eye to smirk at her. 

Valerie returned it with an earnest smile, “Thought I was incorrigible?”

“Perhaps you can be both.”

“Good to know,” Val grinned. She itched closer to Lu. “You know, uh, they said her surgery could be another four or so hours, if you...You know, if you’re not too tired after the, uh, the forms and that.”

Lucille sighed and pressed herself closer to Valerie, “You needn’t sound so nervous asking for my company, precious.” She wrapped her in another tight embrace. “You’re my girlfriend now.”

_ Girlfriend _ . 

Still gave her butterflies.

No, not butterflies. That was too cliche, too simply. 

The thought of Lucille, her girlfriend,  _ her Lucille,  _ well that made her feel as though she was cliff-diving, falling so painfully slowly through the air into the unknown sea below. A thrill, a panic, not knowing what would happen once she collided with that water.

But enjoying every moment of it regardless. 

Lucille pulled back, pressed a sweet, short kiss to Valerie’s lips, “I have to go back,” She grumbled, squeezing her once more. 

“Okay,” Val replied, half-heartedly as she was indisposed in the softness of the moment. 

Lucille licked her lips, “If anything happens with Patsy, call up to us, okay?”

“Certainly.”

Another quick peck, this time to her cheek, and Lucille disappeared back through the doors, leaving Valerie lingering in the smoke of the moment. 

  
  


-

  
  


“The good thing is,” Valerie said, jingling her keys in the door up to the flat early the next morning. “You can already tie your shoelaces with one hand, so we don’t need to relearn that.”

“I shan’t need to relearn much, Val,” Patsy mumbled, blinking dazed through the pain medicine. 

The surgery, although long and complex, had happened smooth enough for her to be discharged not even forty five minutes after she came to. 

To be perfectly honest, Patsy seemed so generally bothered by the hospital environment, Val figured that they discharged her so she’d stop giving everyone the most sour look. 

So Doctor Up-Himself had thrust some oxy into Val’s hand, scheduled appointments that Patsy absolutely  _ must _ attend, and sent them on their jolly way. 

Her former ginger counterpart was leaning against the wall beside the stairs, hand in a splint, and the arm strapped against her chest like it used to always be. From what the surgeon had disclosed during their departure, it seemed likely it was going to remain like that. 

“I know but,” The door opened to a quiet apartment. Silent, actually. Save for Phyllis pottering about in the kitchen. 

Patricia let out a loud mewl, jumping down from the sofa and wrapping herself around Patsy’s ankles. 

“Good lord,” Patsy groaned. 

“Oh good, you’re home,” She beamed, stepping over to them with two cups in her hands. “I’ve made you both some tea, one well sugared for you,” Phyllis looked pointedly at an already receding Pats. 

Patsy took the cup with a sort of grimaced thanks, “Delia?” She asked. 

“We popped her in Valerie’s room to give her some quiet. Trixie and I have kept an eye on her. She’s fine, but a little restless—worried about you of course.”

“I feel as though all I’ve given her for the past couple of months are worries,” Patsy cast a long stare to the bedroom door. She fidgeted with the cup. “Do you think she—”

“Never,” Phyllis cut her off with a hard stare. “And you know that. You two’ll make it work. And you’ve all us here to support.”

Valerie nodded too, giving Patsy’s shoulder a squeeze. 

“Thank you,” Pats said softly. 

“You needn’t worry about a thing, lass,” Phyllis replied. “Now you go join your girlfriend while I finish making some adjustments back up here.”

“Do you need a hand, I—”

“You’ve been in a hospital for twelve hours, Valerie. Go get some rest,” Phyllis ordered, giving her no choice but to follow Patsy into her bedroom. 

Delia was bundled in every single blanket in the whole flat it looked like, in the centre of Valerie’s bed with Trixie lounging beside her. They both appeared entranced by the phone in Delia’s hands. 

A phone which she threw directly into Trixie’s face at the sight of Patsy. 

Didn’t seem Trixie had the heart to be pissed at the action. A relieved smile made itself at home on her lips. 

“Sweetheart, how are you feeling? What did they say? How long do you need the sling for?” Delia sat up, hands reaching out for Patsy. 

Without even sliding her jacket off—she still kicked her shoes off though, she wasn’t  _ completely _ out of sorts—Patsy eased herself beside Delia on the bed, careful not to knock her arm. 

“We got a bag o’ pills, follow up appointments, and the same rules from last time,” Val popped the pharmacy bag on the bedside table before dropping down on the other side of Patsy. 

The bed let out a whine as it squeaked under the weight. 

“Don’t get it wet,” Patsy grunted, eyes falling shut. 

“Keep it covered and secure,” Trixie added. 

“And don’t feed it after midnight?” Delia arched an eyebrow. 

Val snorted, “Pretty much.”

Patsy cracked an eye open, “Did you just call me a gremlin?”

“But you’re  _ my _ gremlin,” Delia leaned down to press a kiss to her head. 

Patsy huffed and shifted closer to Delia, appearing perturbed she couldn’t move to wrap an arm around her, she instead hooked her ankle over Delia’s. 

“You do have some frightening similarities to Gizmo,” Trixie smirked, giggling as she sipped her coffee. 

Val laughed, “Big eyes, unpredictable personality, and you’re even from the  _ mystical East. _ ”

“When I can keep my big eyes for more than a minute, I  _ will  _ be choking you, Dyer,” Patsy spat. She softened, when she asked Delia, “How are  _ you _ feeling?”

“Oh you know me,” Delia stroked her hair. “I get it over it pretty quickly these days. I just wish I could have come with you.”

“She was asleep the whole time,” Valerie said. “Really bloody boring.”

“You say this as if you didn’t have sex with Lucille in a supply cupboard,” Patsy mumbled with enough snark despite being on the precipice of sleep. 

Val set her jaw, “We didn’t have sex in a supply cupboard.”

“They still haven’t done it yet,” Delia informed frankly in that omniscient way she always did. “Despite it being  _ so many weeks _ .”

Patsy expelled an ‘ooft’.

Trixie was preoccupied with her phone.

“We’re taking our time,” Valerie shrugged, settling into the pillows. 

For the second time that morning, Patsy cracked an open to give Val an indignant look, “You’re afraid you’re going to do it again, aren’t you?”

Valerie licked her lips, “It was traumatising.”

“I’ll bet,” Trixie offered lazily. “Though I hardly think it’s cause enough for you to turn into a nun about it.”

“Offended on behalf of Sister Julienne,” Valerie muttered. “And  _ besides _ , we were...close to...doing it the other day. Until Barbara--”

“Oh no!” Delia gasped, chuckling through it. “She didn’t?”

Val flushed, “She did. I was  _ on display _ , Lu was...It was uncomfortable, alright? Really ruined the moment.”

Patsy’s face bore a cringe, “Can’t imagine anything worse.”

“It’s mortifying,” Trixie deadpanned, texting as she spoke. “The moonlight hitting Delia’s arse is not something anyone needs to see at five in the morning.”

“Hey!”

“I think it’s wonderful,” Patsy mumbled quietly. 

Delia pressed a kiss to her head, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Trixie rolled her eyes.

Val eyed her, “You know...Barbara would be around less if...She feels quite  _ lonely _ ,” Valerie said this slowly, watching every movement of Trixie’s. “Since her and Tom broke up, well, since she threw a carton of milk at his head and called him a rat, she doesn’t really have--”

But Trixie cut her off: “Delia, he replied.”

Valerie blinked, “Who?”

Delia sat up quickly, jolting Patsy away from the cusp of sleep once more. She grabbed Trixie’s phone. 

Patsy groaned, sighed, and pressed herself closer to Val, “Don’t you dare move.”

“He really replied,” Delia stated, staring down at the screen.

Val wrapped an arm around Patsy’s waist, “Who?”

“Thank you,” Patsy whispered, letters falling off as she fell asleep. 

“The dentist,” Trixie said plainly. 

Ah yes. 

The Dentist. 

Sure.

Clears everything up that does. 

Valerie huffed, “Who is  _ the dentist _ ?”

“Christopher,” Trixie informed. She glanced at Delia. “What should I say?”

“Well, what would you usually say?” Delia asked.

“Ah, Christopher the dentist, know him quite well,” Valerie commented dryly with a sarcasm learned from Trixie herself.

Trixie rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out to her, “Delia was bored. So we went on Tinder.”

“Delia, you’re in a committed relationship with this ridiculous lump,” Valerie chided. 

“I can browse so long as I don’t buy,” Delia replied with a pointed look. “Besides, this is the meat aisle and I’m a vegetarian.”

Valerie had to give her that.

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Trixie continued. “Her taste in men is terrible but she did come across this most...charming and attractive man--”

“Sounds like a male me.”

“--and we matched and, well, he’s  _ really _ fit, Val,” Trixie said, thrusting her phone towards Valerie. 

Well.

He certainly was a man. 

Very white teeth.

And ginger hair. 

Val glanced down at Patsy. When she looked up, Delia caught her eyes and they shared a mutual understanding at that. 

“And he’s a dentist?” Valerie queried, tightening her hold slightly on Patsy and thinking about poor Barbara. 

Poor, poor Barbara. 

Trixie grinned, “Has his own practice. And, look,” She swiped through to another photograph. “He drives a _ maserati. _ ” 

Barbara aside,  _ damn _ . 

Valerie appraised him once more, “He seems...nice. But not  _ too nice _ like Tom was. Seems genuine.”

“I said if a man looks like he could have bodies under his floorboards, he probably doesn’t,” Delia said. Val blinked. “It’s the ones who look like they don’t you have to worry about.”

“Right okay,” Val bobbed her head. 

Understandable really. 

Christopher did look a bit Nielsen-esque. 

Trixie was already texting away again, “Even if he isn’t nice, it’s been a while since I last had some fun.”

“You shagged Pats a month ago,” Delia said.

Trixie stilled, “Well, yes but she lacks the proper equipment for me to--”

“She said you--”

“I don’t want to hear this,  _ please _ ,” Valerie whined. 

It was at that moment, Patsy expressed the most guttural groan of irritation that anyone in the room had ever heard. 

“As much I love you, all of you, could you  _ please _ let me fall asleep next to the love of my life in peace?” She grunted, eyes not open but rage apparent in the slight, sleepy snarl of her lips. 

“I didn’t realise I was—”

“Get out Valerie,” Patsy bit back. 

Val pouted, “My bedroom.”

“Love declarations so flippantly, Pats,” Trixie teased, rising from the bed and sliding her phone into her pocket. “Are you feeling okay?”

“It’s the oxycodone,” Delia smirked. Her arms wrapped around her girlfriend, prying her from Valerie and holding her close. “You sleep, sweetheart, those two have a bakery to go down and run.”

“Deels is right, Val, come on, we’re already late opening up today,” Trixie padded over to Val and gave her a firm swat on the leg. 

Valerie pressed a kiss to Patsy’s head, “Rest up, Pats.”

“Fuck you, Val,” was Patsy’s whispered retort. 

“Yeah, she’s alright,” Delia grinned. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Valerie existed through the day with the help of five black coffees and Phyllis’ smacking the back of her head with a ball of dough whenever she yawned. 

It was like a Pavlovian response, but she managed to get through with relative ease. 

By mid afternoon, she’d managed to successfully whisk egg whites--  _ by hand! _ \-- to the perfect meringue consistency for Phyllis’ key lime pies and frankly, it may actually have been one of her crowning achievements. 

Maybe Patsy made a point about the satisfaction of baking. 

Still too many calculations though. 

As her and Phyllis worked on closing down the kitchen, scrubbing the surfaces, washing the dishes, and reorganising the pantry, Trixie had popped her head through the window requesting they keep an ear out for the door. Apparently, she had something  _ important _ to attend to upstairs. 

Val figured it was one of the lesbians being dramatic. Or needy. They could be like that when they were sick.

However, when Val traipsed up not forty five minutes later after everywhere was locked up, she found that the apartment was silent. Actually silent. The light was off in her bedroom and a little check through the door told her that Pats and Deels were very much still asleep, still cuddled tight together. 

Valerie frowned and surveyed the flat once more. 

Trixie’s bedroom light was also off but the bathroom…

Valerie’s frown only deepened. 

And then panic set in. 

Trixie had trialled one of Valerie’s made-completely-on-her-own croissants early in the day. What if she’d gotten it wrong? I mean, Phyllis said they were  _ fine _ , not on Patsy’s level of course, but they were definitely cooked. But what if they hadn’t been? What if Valerie had served Trixie raw pastry and she was dying in the bathroom? 

Oh the shame. 

She’d have to ask Lucille how she felt about starting a new life with her in Mexico. Or in one of Patsy’s dad’s old places in the far East. 

Valerie raised a fist, ready to knock, when voices interrupted her.

“And what will you do?” Trixie was asking, gentle, soft. The kind of caring voice she reserved for only the most distressing of times. “If it is positive?”

Val lowered her hand. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what--I can’t see him again, Trixie; let alone have a  _ baby with him _ .”

Barbara. 

Baby. 

_ Barbara. Baby.  _

_ Pregnant?! _

“I know you know there are options, you are a midwife after all,” Trixie cooed. “But just to remind you that you don’t  _ have _ to have it, if it is positive.”

Barbara choked out, “I know. I know. I’m sorry, again, I didn’t know who el—who else to come to.”

Valerie snagged her lip between her teeth and hesitated. She stepped back, away from the door, deciding to allow the private conversation to remain private. 

Back in her bedroom, she flicked a lamp on. The lesbians in her bed didn’t move. She smiled softly at them before going to rummage through her closet for a change of clothes. Date with Lucille. Yes. That was happening, she couldn’t—

_ Barbara could be pregnant _ . 

Actual Nurse Barbara Gilbert could be  _ pregnant _ . 

Actual Nurse Barbara Gilbert, her emotionally conflicted, sexually confused sister was in love with, could be  _ pregnant.  _

Bloody hell; was there no reprieve from the madness?

What would happen? Would Barbara get back with Tom? Effectively breaking Trixie’s heart and shattering any possibility of the two of them ever sorting out whatever was going on between them. Could Trixie cope? Of course she could, but would she be…

Would Trixie ever allow herself to feel anything for anyone again?

Val dressed in a silent flurry as these thoughts trickled through her brain at a surging speed. Soon, she was drowning. 

What if Barbara kept the baby? And what if Trixie still, well, got with her? Could Trixie be a mum? Would Trixie leave? Go live with Babs in some secluded cottage like other lesbians do?

(Reaching, your honour, she’s reaching.)

Or would Babs and the baby move in with them? After all, Pats and Deels would be moving out soon when they actually looked for new places to live. And Babs could bunk with Trixie, obviously. But then the kid would have no bedroom?

Would  _ Val _ have to leave?

Where would she go?

It was far too early in the game to u-haul over to Lucille’s and the thought of being out in the sticks with Phyllis was enough to make her skin crawl with loneliness. 

Oh god. 

Oh fuck. 

More importantly, Val paused, tying up her shoelaces, would she be a godmother?

Before she could contemplate  _ that _ scenario, Lucille text her to let her know she was in the cab outside. 

Val surveyed herself for a minute, dabbing some lip gloss on in the mirror, before brushing down her shirt and leaving.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


“Are you  _ sure  _ you don’t mind walking?” Valerie asked for the third time since they’d left the restaurant. 

They’d finally had a re-do on their date at _ Hilda’s _ —Val, proudly, didn’t break down this time—and it had been truly wonderful. As is always the case with Lucille, obviously, but she’d been especially sweet and cheeky all evening. 

Once their final glass of red (Well, Val’s red, Lu was on call and had been burdened with sparkling water) had been downed, she’d asked Valerie to walk home with her. Barbara was out—Val did  _ not _ mention that she knew that—and they’d have the house to themselves for a few hours. 

Finally. 

But Lucille had wanted to walk. Which was  _ fine. _ But Val was a sensitive soul and the September air had a certain bite to it. She shivered insurmoutably. 

Of course, Lucille clocked this and slid off her sheepskin lined denim jacket to hand over to Valerie. 

“You don’t need—“

“Val,” Lucille shook the jacket at her. “Your goose pimples look like molehills, take the jacket.” 

Valerie acquiesced and slipped the jacket on. 

Alright. It was exactly what she needed. 

Lucille linked her arm through Val’s, “How’s Patsy?”

“She’s been asleep most of the day,” Valerie tugged her a little closer. “Woke up to slate the quality of my flaky pastry around noon. Completely out of it, mind you. The doc said she was on the highest dose they could provide.”

Lucille nodded, “For the best; a second tear repair is usually more painful for less…”

“She had a blip, very small one, when we got back to the house. Worried about Delia and what they’re future would be like. Phyllis cut her off before she could spiral though.”

“Do you think they’ll be okay?”

Val smiled, “I think so. We manage, they’ll manage. I’m certain Delia’s already spitballing ideas on how to raise a child with Patsy only having one functioning hand. There’ll be a PowerPoint presentation by tomorrow evening. Nothing can keep those two apart I’m sure of it.”

“That’s sweet,” Lucille swooned, gazing up at the sky. She dropped her eyes to Val. “I think I’d like a love like that.”

“Yeah?” Val looked down to her. “Was that not what you had with your ex?”

Lucille shook her head, “He and I...We were young sweethearts, like I told you. It was never  _ supposed  _ to last, and we both knew that. I think he was as happy that I fled as I was for doing so.”

“Have you heard from him?” Valerie chanced. 

“Before I called my mother, I hadn’t heard from anyone,” Lucille replied, sombre. “No one reached out to me. I thought maybe he would but...Nothing. From anyone.”

Valerie moved her arm then, to wrap it around Lucille’s shoulders and pull her in closer to her side, “That’ll change now though, right? You still speaking to your mum?”

Lucille nodded, “We text infrequently. She doesn’t want--...There’s a lot to discuss.”

“Understandable,” Valerie kissed the top of her head. Sensing Lucille’s uncomfort, she chanced a glance up to the stars. “Full moon tonight.”

“Means the werewolves are out.”

“I’ll have to text Delia, check and see if she’s caged Patsy up,” Valerie wrinkled her nose. 

Lucille laughed, “You love her.”

“I do.”

“I like that.”

Val frowned, “That I love Patsy?”

Lucille grinned, “Yes. You love your friends, well,  _ family _ , so much. It’s admirable.”

“They make it easy,” Valerie shrugged. Her shoes suddenly became monumentally interesting. “Trixie was the second person to ever care about me--I learned how to love because of her. And Pats, well, she’s an idiot with feelings but a loveable one.” 

Lucille pulled them to a stop at the top of her road, jarring Val slightly. 

Valerie stumbled but righted herself quickly, her eyebrows furrowing as she took in Lucille’s shift in demeanour. She rubbed the back of her neck, looking positively uncomfortable. Nervous. 

“You alright, chick?” 

“I actually wanted to—“

And then her bloody phone rang. 

It was the ringtone reserved for the hospital so Valerie stepped back to allow her the privacy. Lucille closed her eyes briefly before taking her phone from her bag. 

“I’m sorry, I—“

“No, go ahead,” Val smiled, shaking her head. 

It seemed to be a regretfully distressing call, if the pinching Lucille did of her nose was anything to go by. Valerie just gave her a supportive nod, rubbing her arm. 

Lucille hung up with a sigh, “One of my mothers is premature. I need to…”

Valerie chuckled, “Starting to feel a little homophobic all these interruptions.”

“Val, I--”

“It’s a joke, darlin’,” She pulled Lucille closer to her. “I love what you do.”

Lucille released the breath she was holding and leaned up to kiss Valerie awfully sweetly, “You’re more than welcome to stay, maybe if I’m not too late back we could---”

“You’ll be shattered, you always are after a birth,” Val ran a hand along her hair. “Some other time, alright?”

Lucille bit her lip but acquiesced with a nod, “I should get my bike.”

“You should.”

“I should.”

“Mhm.”

“Valerie?”

Val grinned, “Yeah?”

Lucille observed her for a long moment, before she reached up, losing her hands in Valerie’s hair to pull her down for a kiss. 

There was a deep passion behind it. Well, there was to all of Lucille’s kisses but this one felt different, it felt  _ more so _ . Val couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped her lips. It was so easy, she found, to just melt into Lucille. 

It all ended far too quickly frankly. 

“I have to go,” Lucille bumped her nose against Val’s. A quick peck. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Always,” Valerie whispered. 

She stepped back, allowing the space for Lucille to leave. A last, lingering look, Lucille appearing on the edge of saying something before she stopped herself. And walked away. 

Val shoved her hands in her pockets, turning for the other direction and then she paused:

“Lu! Your coat!” She called, half yanking the bloody thing off. 

Lucille laughed, waved her hand, “Keep it! Give it back tomorrow!”

Valerie just beamed, watching her leave. And began her walk home.

It was a pleasant enough walk, Lu always left her with a bit of a thrill. A bit of an energy. Some air of confidence, one could say. 

So Val, at the clock tower beside the Old Nonnatus Library, lingered. She glanced down the hill to the bakery at the bottom and considered. 

In that moment, she made her mind up. 

Before any second guesses could be had, Val dialled that number she’d gotten from Phyllis yesterday. One she never thought she’d ever call. 

Three rings. Another. And then—

_ “Hello?” _

Val stiffened, sent back to nineteen-ninety-three, sent back to Poplar, sent back to loneliness, lovelessness, and desperation. 

Before Trixie—

Before mum and Phyllis—

Before Magda and Patsy and Delia and—

_ “Hello, who is this?” _

Val felt herself grow smaller, turning in on herself like she used to. Before she was told to stand proud and loud and—

Val choked. 

She shut her phone off, turning it off completely, and her knees gave way. 

She leaned against the clock tower for support, the cold of the brick keeping her grounded. Once more, she cast a gaze to Nomads at the bottom of the hill.

Home. 

Valerie needed to go home. 

Yes. 

To Trixie and Pats and Delia. 

Home. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Foggy, Val felt like when she woke to a stab in the throat. Not a literal stab, of course, she was simply parched enough that it drew her from her slumber. Patricia was laying on top of her, curled elegantly on her stomach. That was when Val realised that there was a slight glare of some light striking her face. 

She’d relegated herself to the sofa bed, allowing Pats and Deels more time to recuperate in her bed. Which, to be fair, worked in her favour. The sofa bed was  _ so much _ comfier than the rickety old thing she slept on. 

Val blinked awake. At first, it felt like the moonlight that was breaking through the window. But as a few more sparks of reality fizzled in her brain, she realised that it was coming at the complete wrong angle. It was coming from the...kitchen?

And that’s when she heard it. Ever so quiet. Ever so private. 

A soft humming. 

Valerie turned on the sofa bed, only slightly, to direct her gaze to their kitchenette. 

What she saw melted her heart a little bit. And broke it all the same. 

The refrigerator was open, the light of which cast the kitchen in a soft glow that spilled out in the rest of the apartment. Obscured by the brightness, cast in shadow, Barbara twirled Trixie around slowly. Gentle, fragile, the moment was. Trixie came into Barbara’s embrace once more, arms around her neck, close. 

Barbara was humming, her lips besides Trixie’s ear, some soft tune Val couldn’t place. Her hands on Trixie’s hips held her flush against her. Attuned, they swayed to this humming. 

In a whisper, only reaching Val’s ears in slight, Barbara asked, “Have you ever danced like this with a woman before?”

“Once. A long time ago,” Trixie replied just as quietly. She moved her head, resting against Barbara’s. 

_ Cynthia _ . 

Barbara hummed once more, “How does it feel?”

“Exactly...Exactly how it should.”

The fear in Trixie’s voice was insurmountable, it shook. Quivering. From a woman who had always been the strongest, surest tone in the room, it was near frightening how weak she had become. 

Val closed her eyes once more, expelling a sad sigh. Pushing away the need for water, she rolled onto her side to give the impression of still being asleep. Allowing them, for the second time that day, a privacy they both needed.

She must have actually dozed off again at some point because she was soon jolted by a sharp pain in her thigh. Gasping, Val woke, arms flailing and ready to strike whomever was infringing her slumber. 

“Sorry, I just…”  _ Trixie _ . She looked positively tiny standing there in the dark. “Can we go and join Pats and Deels?”

Valerie blinked, sitting up.

Barbara was gone.

The fridge was shut.

Trixie was alone. 

She furrowed her eyebrows but nodded, exhausted, and trapised with Trixie into her bedroom. Trixie leaned into Val, searching for her warmth and Val gave her a tight squeeze. 

Patsy and Delia were still asleep. They’d  _ clearly _ fooled around a bit if the state of Delia’s flannel top was anything to go by. Full tit on display and that. Patsy had her head rested on Delia’s hip, curled in a way that shouldn’t be comfortable on her side. Delia had a hand resting on Patsy’s back, bare where she’d pushed her shirt up. 

Val didn’t have the energy to roll her eyes but she gave a mighty good try. She deposited herself down beside Delia, Trixie on Patsy’s side. 

“Delia, your nipple is going to blind me,” Valerie mumbled, yanking the other woman’s shirt down. 

Delia stirred, “Val?”

Valerie cuddled closer to her, arm over her stomach, fingers lightly brushing Pats’ head, “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Mm’kay,” Delia sighed sleepily. 

Patsy grunted, “Trix?”

“Yes?” Trixie asked, voice small, face buried in between Patsy’s shoulders.

“Hi.”

The bed, beneath them, let out a loud creak.

Patsy blinked, “That sounds suspicious.”

Delia grumbled, “It’s fine.”

Valerie sat up slightly, “I don’t know…”

Trixie rolled her eyes, “It’s just settling. There’s nothing to worry ab---”

_ BANG! _

On the floor, in a pile of splintered wood, blankets and bodies, Val let out the deepest sigh possible. 

Seemed about right. 

  
  


**END OF PART ONE.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so concludes part one!!!  
> I really felt like this was much becoming a series not too dissimilar to a TV show and this felt like a good season finale.   
> Part Two will be very soon, and here’s a little summary for it:  
> Trixie’s plan for expansion gets derailed when another opportunity strikes. Patsy and Delia navigate around a shocking amount of inheritance. Val goes to Poplar. After Val (Trixie) blows the fuse box, Nomads hires electrician Cyril Robinson to fix them up. Lucille and Valerie finally find some time alone together. Barbara ends up on trial.   
> I hope you guys stick around for part two I’m very excited about it and I wanna thank u for all the support so far ily so much 💕❤️💕❤️💕


	21. part two: chapter one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s pumpkin spice season y’all

“ _Things are not as simple as an eight bar summary, life can change the tempo fast as we make memories. One day my Nintendo seemed the height of luxury, now I’m wondering what’s under the surface of all my feelings…_

_....Seems like every day I’m growing up another way. We grow up, we fall down, it’s wonderful and scary.”_

WONDERFUL AND SCARY, PEABOD

0:13

  
**PART TWO**

**(HEALTHY SNACKS)**

“Daylight robbery, you know.”

Val rolled a loose orange around in her grip, letting it travel down to her elbow before she hit it up and caught it with all the grace of someone who learned that trick to impress a pretty girl. Abbie did _not_ appreciate it back then and it seemed Patsy didn’t either right now. 

The two had been burdened with a jaunt to the supermarket since the suppliers were allegedly striking something fierce out in the country. The trolly that Patsy had firmly offered to push was piled high with bags of flour, sugar, yeast, etcetera. 

Val added the orange on top, “Can get a loose orange for twelve pence in Aldi. Chargin’ thirty five here.”

“Valerie you needn’t make your disdain for Sainsbury’s known _every_ time we come here.”

“But it’s thievery!”

“And it’s our closest supermarket,” Patsy sighed, adjusting her arm in the tight sling. 

Having only been about a month from her surgery, Patsy had relegated her left hand to heal strapped to her shoulder. It ached terribly, apparently, and keeping it elevated seemed to somewhat quell the pain being that Pats absolutely abhorred the presence of painkillers in her system. 

“Pats, I can take over the—“

“I’m fine,” She said this firm but not brusque. As though not at all frustrated, just simply tired. 

Val figured it was the whole recovery thing but endeavoured to keep an eye lest Pats slip back to the macabre mood of that first May back from the Middle East. 

“But you could take that bloody thing off,” Patsy smirked, tugging at the rubber nose of the werewolf mask adorning Val’s face. 

Val swatted her hand away, “This is the real me.”

“You’re an idiot, Dyer.”

“And yet you love me regardless,” Val took the mask off to press a sloppy kiss to her friend’s cheek. Ruffled her hair too for good measure. 

Patsy shoved her, “Your relationship status mystifies me.”

Val gave her the finger, depositing the mask on a random shelf. 

They rounded down another aisle.

“How is Lucille anyway?” Patsy asked. “Feels as though I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

Val wrinkled her nose, eyes flitting between the shopping list at the racks of spices on the shelf, “Tell _me_ about it. Can’t really complain though - she’s spending most of her free time doing research with Doctor Turner.”

“Is this on account of the little chap with the bone cancer?”

Valerie nodded sadly, “They’re hoping to save his leg but...It’s a lot of medical jargon I don’t know much about. They’re tryin’ so hard though.”

Patsy bit her lip, “There’s always something somewhere.”

Val gave a small smile, “Yeah. They’ll find it. I’m certain. I’m here to make sure Lu doesn’t overwork herself.”

“Good,” Patsy nodded. She shifted again and then glanced at the shelves. “If you love me, Valerie, you won’t do it.”

Valerie held a little jar of cloves, “But—”

“I’m not interested,” Patsy huffed.

Val paused, slowly placed the cloves into the trolly at the behest of Patsy’s hard stare.

“Val.”

“Pats,” Val replied. She cocked her head. “Is it because it overshadows your birthday?”

Patsy bristled, “You know that I don’t care about my birthday. I simply don’t like it because it’s a cheap, franchised flavour that is overdone and offends my palette.” 

“I like it.”

“Your opinion means nothing on the matter,” Patsy lifted the jar of cloves back onto the shelf.

“Oi, it does,” Val snatched the cloves back. “And Trixie wants us to make pumpkin spice lattes so we’re going to. Because it’s what Trixie wants.”

Bingo. 

_No one_ could resist Trixie’s will. 

Patsy ran her tongue over her teeth, before expelling a resounding sigh, “Cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger.”

Val bobbed her head, plucking the jars from the rack, “Wonderful.”

“Maybe all spice if you want to…” Patsy sighed once more. “Give it a bit more bite.”

“For someone who hates pumpkin spice, you seem to know a lot about it.”

“I’m a baker,” Patsy replied tersely. “Or I will be again very soon. It’s my job to know about...Anyway, are we nearly done?”

Ignoring Tired Pats’ brusqueness with something of a learned profession, Valerie simply popped the jars into the trolly, “Think that’s everything. She ask you to get anything else?”

Patsy shook her head, “I just want to have a look at the stationary aisle.”

“Ah yeah, gotta make sure Deels has all the right pens,” Val quipped. 

“She abhors a ballpoint,” Patsy smiled fondly as they set about the direction. “And if she’s going to be influencing the future generation, we must make sure she’s got the inky type.”

Val blinked, “I still can’t believe that—“

“I know. We need to get that advertisement out for a new driver.”

Delia’s career change had occurred as things in their life often did—absolutely suddenly and with little to no preparation available. 

Not too long after Patsy’s surgery, Delia was off delivering a batch of pistachio croissants to the staff room at Saint Evangelina’s and came back not two hours later with an offer to teach science at the school. Apparently the previous one quit with no warning at the start of term and hightailed off leaving them understaffed until Delia walked in with a PhD in environmental science and biology. Quick questions and a promise to complete a PGCE alongside, Delia secured a decent paying change of pace. 

At the behest of starting two days later. 

She was still settling in and bemoaning the intricacies of lesson plans but seemed to be thriving. 

Delia’s second greatest love was always Planet Earth and getting to talk about it with kids seemed to brighten her day insurmountably. 

Patsy flicked her hair over her shoulder, considering a cat-covered pencil case with much intensity. 

“Looks like your cat.”

“ _Our_ cat.”

Patsy hummed, “Debatable.”

“You love her.”

“ _Delia_ loves her,” Patsy retorted. She dropped the pencil case into the trolly with an assortment of pilot pens. “And I love Delia.”

Val grinned, “You’re getting soft in your old age, Pats.”

Patsy rolled her eyes, “I’m not thirty five for another few weeks, please refrain from calling me _old_.”

“Practically ancient.”

“You’re an arsehole,” Patsy smacked her on the back of the head. “Let’s get home.”

“Wait, there’s just one little thing…”

  
  


-

  
  


“And we also got potatoes, carrots, turnips, steak for Barbara’s stew,” Val whittled off, hoisting the items out of the bag and settling them down on the kitchen counter. 

Barbara whizzed past, pulling on a sock, “Not a stew.”

“It’s a stew,” Patsy called from the sofa. 

Barbara hopped by tugging a trainer on her foot, “Technically yes but we don’t call it stew.”

“Why wouldn’t you call what it is?” Val frowned, watching the other woman bound around the apartment and get dressed in a flurry. “And why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“Because it’s scouse, that’s what we call it. And Trixie didn’t wake me up early enough.”

From the door out to the balcony, cigarette in hand, Trixie called, “I _did_!”

“But it’s still a stew,” Val furrowed her eyebrows. 

“Didn’t!” Barbara finally stilled with two feet on the ground. “And yes it may _superficially_ be stew but if it’s made by a Liverpudlian and their family recipe then it’s a _scouse_.”

“I’ve a recipe for scones that my mother used to make, perhaps I should refer to them as Chelsea Buns?” Patsy smirked. 

Delia swatted her arm, “The fact you said sc _o_ nes and not scones negates you from having an opinion, love.”

“Blatant discrimination,” Patsy muttered, huffing. 

“Tell it to _The Sun_ ,” Delia retorted. 

Patsy rolled her eyes. 

“Nothin’ better than a stew—” 

“Scouse.”

“—at the start of Autumn,” Val rubbed her hands together, surveying the food in front of her. “Can’t wait to have a taste.”

“Well, the sooner we get Babs to the clinic and back the sooner we can eat that... _scouse_ ,” Trixie declared as she stubbed her cigarette out. Clapping her hands, she moved Barbara along to the coat rack, “We’re going to be late!”

It had been an _interesting_ month, one might say, since they’d had to take an emergency trip to Dreams to replace Val’s awful oak frame with a nice divan. Between Delia now officially being Miss Busby the Science Teacher and Patsy taking a resting break from the kitchen, the foundations of Nomads had shaken a little. 

Trixie was back in the kitchen leaving Valerie completely in charge of all the orders and everything, Patsy sorting out the takings and taxes (because Val had absolutely _no_ idea how to do that sort of maths. Or any maths really.). Phyllis was still in the kitchen but had to take some time out to do the deliveries for the time being. It was an odd restructuring that felt out of sorts. But it was temporary. 

Pats would be back in the kitchen soon enough and they’d have a new delivery driver and everything would be right. 

Oh and Babs now semi-lived with them. 

Val wasn’t exactly entirely sure on the situation there. 

But she was pregnant and scared and Trixie was a tonic to that so the bakery had become her temporary (or perhaps not) refuge for the time being. 

Additionally, their house _had_ been taken over by Lucille and Doctor Turner’s research ‘party’ and books on pediatric bone cancer did not the comfort make for the pregnant woman. 

Babs was truly wonderful to have around _and_ it meant that Val and Lu could grab some alone time over at their place. 

(Of course _that_ certain bridge hadn’t been crossed since this case took over Lucille’s life. But Valerie wasn’t complaining.)

Granted five people in a small two bedroom flat with one bathroom had some substantial setbacks. In particular, Babs’ morning sickness kicking in at the same time Valerie’s morning bathroom break was scheduled. Or Trixie needing a shower when Delia was helping Patsy with hers. Or Babs getting up for a middle of the night call out and interrupting certain activities from the living room lesbians. 

More than twice. 

More than _thrice_. 

But the negatives didn’t outweigh the positives, at least not yet and Val was quite content with how they were. 

She just yearned for Lucille to be more...available. 

That’s what happens when you date a carer though. Busy saving little kid’s lives. 

Delia set her mug down on the coffee table and pressed a long, lingering kiss to the top of Patsy’s head, “I’ve got to go too—It’s the year eights this afternoon.”

“Pointless year group,” Patsy mumbled, leaning into Deels. “Skip them.”

“If you get your coat now we can drop you off on the way to the clinic,” Trixie called from the door as she ushered Barbara out. 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Delia called, giving Patsy’s shoulder a squeeze before bounding off after them. 

At the sound of keys being grabbed from the bowl by the door cued Val to shout: “Don’t crash my car, Trix!”

“I’ll try my hardest!”

“Bye guys!” Barbara called back

And then the door slammed shut.

Valerie popped an orange segment in her mouth, “You gonna be alright on your own?”

Patsy, from the sofa, expressed a resounding sigh, “Need I remind you that I’m not an invalid? I’ll be perfectly fine on my own while you spend the afternoon with Lucille.”

Valerie bit her lip. There was an art to Patsy’s moods that she was still attempting to master, especially given the unpredictable nature since her injury. 

Valerie chewed on another piece of orange, “So long as you’re sure.”

Patsy smiled, blatantly forced, and stood, “I’m going to run a bath—I believe I’m long overdue for a good soak.”

And with that, she stepped into the bathroom. 

Val considered for a moment. Then, headed to her bedroom to get changed.

Yes, things were certainly different this time around. 

  
  


—

  
  


“Right, Nurse Gilbert, let’s see things are progressing, shall we?”

Doctor Turner was a fine man. From the way Barbara and Lucille had spoken of him, Trixie had always expected a kind, gentle soul. Lucille lauded his determination and passion for his patients. Barbara endlessly complimentary in his bedside manner and positive disposition. In fact, when Babs first made this appointment, first even found out about her pregnancy, she told Trixie, she wanted Doctor Turner to oversee her. For what could be more comforting than the most highly regarded, highly cherished Doctor in the whole maternity ward? 

And that’s exactly how he presented himself in this moment, consummately professional but awfully friendly, rubbing his hands together as he flicked on the ultrasound machine. 

Initially, Barbara had been terrified. More than terrified, petrified, at the thought of having the baby of a man she didn’t love. Of raising a baby alone, afraid, life changed forever. 

Trixie had, maybe perhaps rather foolishly, declared that that wouldn’t be the case. That she, and through no stretch of apprehension Val, Lucille, Patsy and Delia too, would help her through the child’s life. For all of it. The baby would be cherished by their family, be part of their family, and Barbara wouldn’t be alone. 

This reassurance had calmed her monumentally. And so Barbara had allowed herself, even if anxieties still bubbles away, to be excited at her incoming motherhood. 

Even if she did reach for Trixie’s hand often. 

And Trixie had to pull away. 

Letting Barbara down was difficult but she _had_ been on three dates with Christopher now and was quite besotted with him. Absolutely besotted. 

Irrevocably. 

Anyway. 

Trixie leaned on the hospital bed, watching as the two chatted casually about Lucille’s cancer case amongst other things. She was entirely caught up in the actions of Doctor Turner, how he readied the instruments, fiddled with this machine. 

Perhaps, in another life, Trixie could have been a doctor. Or a midwife. 

Barbara let out an uncomfortable grimace and the monitor on the machine flickered on. 

Trixie caught her lip between her teeth. She locked her fingers together, astutely stubborn to not reach for Barbara. That would serve nothing. 

“Now, if we look here,” Doctor Turner said, calm and all that welcoming. With this free hand, he pointed to a particular set of pixels on the monitor. “Here is your baby, Barbara.”

Logically, one supposed the declaration was redundant, considering that looking at these ultrasound monitors was Barbara’s day job after all. However Trixie didn’t care for judgement. In fact, Trixie struggled to care for anything that wasn’t that silly little set of pixels. 

“My...My baby,” Barbara choked out, overwhelmed, awestruck. 

Trixie couldn’t even blink. 

It was...real. I mean, _of course_ , she knew that Barbara was pregnant. (The lingering stench of vomit that battled mercilessly with Patsy’s bleach in their bathroom was a dead giveaway). But the baby was _there_. Right there. In front of her. On this little screen. Barbara’s baby. 

Barbara’s baby. 

“I’m...I’m really having a baby?” Barbara turned to Trixie quickly. “I’m really...Oh god.”

“Yes, you are, sweetie,” Trixie smiled brightly. 

She could do nothing to stop the building of tears at her eyes. 

Barbara looked so soft. 

Trixie reached down and tucked her hair behind her ear, “You really are.”

“I’d put gestation at around thirteen weeks,” Doctor Turner smiled brightly. “Which means that...we can try this.”

Doctor Turner shifted, angling the probe slightly. He fiddled with the machine. A click. 

And then a fluttering beat filled the room. 

“Seems like this little one already has his mother’s big, loud heart.”

Barbara tore her eyes from Trixie’s and looked back at the screen. Some flickering monochromatic lines and the tiny bean in the centre that Trixie could just about comprehend. 

It was beyond reason, really, when Barbara’s hand found hers. When Barbara’s fingers laced with hers. When she squeezed them back and stared at those pathetic little pixels and decided in that moment, right there, that she would do anything to protect the both of them. 

Even if that meant from herself. 

  
  


—

  
  


Now, Patience Mount wasn't often one to partake in illicit activities. She was sort of _accidentally_ straight-laced. By the book through sheer way of life. There was no reason, not ever, for Patsy to ever do anything _criminal_. 

Sure if the revolution harkened or a loved one was at risk, she would be first in line to break the law for what is good. 

(She _had_ been to a fair few protests and pickets over her years that had gotten _quite_ messy)

But for now, Patsy existed as an extremely proper, law-abiding citizen. 

Well. 

Except for that one thing. 

You see, Pats rationed, her first endeavour into the whole business was during medical school, as one often finds themselves exposed to an array of other worlds at such a point in their life, in a country that had been on the very cusp of making such illicit activities legal anyway. And _besides,_ that first dabble had been for medical purposes. She’d suffered the most atrocious migraines in the winter of her first year and the general practitioner recommended this _alternative_ treatment. 

And that’s how the use continued really. 

Mandatory tests put a stop to it during her terms in the godforsaken army and lo-behold the migraines came swarming back relentlessly. 

(Nurofen decidedly did _not_ have the same effect.)

Since the explosion and the spasms and cramps and burning as her hand healed, Patsy took it upon herself to revert back to her tried and tested painkiller. 

But only once every two weeks unless the pain was _especially_ bad. And always when she was home alone. 

(Not that _that_ part really mattered—Trixie was T-Total in every regard and Val had experimented in high school, whitied immediately, and vowed never to put herself through it again.)

She’d fabricated an entire routine: ensure she was properly nourished beforehand, run a bath at a smooth forty three degrees celcius, spin a particular kind of record, and, of course, be in the company of her favourite philosophers. 

One would think this behaviour teetering on the cusp of neurotic but Patsy was always one to thrive with order and routine and even her illegal dalliance was to be as such. 

So she’d get in the bath, light up her meticulously rolled spliff, and feel the sharp bite of pain thaw and dull until it became more a calming throb. 

(The only time this did not have the desired calming effect was when she picked up The Metamorphosis of which Kafka’s surrealism had sent into a wave of stress and anxiety that rather ruined her Sunday afternoon.)

Which was exactly her plan for this very afternoon. Her hand had been wreaking havoc on her nervous system all weekend and now—as the bakery was closed on Thursdays, and everyone else had vacated the premises—seemed like the perfect time to quell some of the pain. 

It had been horrifically bad if Patsy was being honest with herself. Her focus was shot. Her ability to string a sentence together incapacitated by the burning ache of scar tissue thickening. There had been a few moments, quite embarrassingly so, that she’d had to excuse herself to the bathroom to throw up from how much it hurt. 

Despite all of that, she couldn’t actually bring herself to use any other painkiller than the cannabis shoved in an airtight wooden box concealed in her half of Valerie’s wardrobe. See, Pats had been able to take pain meds since Iraq, since laying beside an unconscious Valerie in that hospital bed for days. The packet of oxy from the doctor was tucked away and the little trays hadn’t been popped at all. She couldn’t bring herself too. 

She could go round and round in her head over why that was, but settling on an exact reason was far more effort than her addled brain could accommodate right now. 

So as the front door closed with Valerie’s departure, Patsy eased herself into the bath to the crooning of Stevie Nicks (because although vehemently against certain stereotypes, she was happy to exist in some factors). 

Patsy forwent a book this time, choosing, perhaps detrimentally, to reside in the company of her own considerations. Such as it had been an exceptionally long few weeks and her mind was boiling with much to be rationalised. 

A flick of the lighter, one foul inhale, seconds, and then Patsy blew the smoke out in a long stream. She watched, mind distracted, how the smoke entangled itself with the steam and floated high against the bathroom ceiling. 

Odd, Patsy had always thought in quiet times like this, how the steam would so openly adopt the smoke into itself despite the origins of each being intrinsically different. 

(Perhaps Trixie was steam and Valerie smoke. Or Valerie and Trixie steam and she, herself, smoke. 

Or maybe they were all simply humans and this metaphor was obtuse.)

Sliding down slightly, grateful for Trixie’s insistence that the most luxurious thing one can buy is a decently sized bathtub, Patsy felt the bubbles flicker at the nape of her neck. The hot water teasing the skin had the same sensation of Delia’s lips in the middle of the night. 

Patsy was astute in her title as The Big Spoon if anyone were to enquire, but somehow, every evening, they would always shift about and Patsy would find herself on her side with Delia cuddled right up against her back. It was warming. Safe. Secure. And Patsy revelled in the calm that the long drawn out breaths of Delia’s slumber pushing past her ear would bring. How her arm would wrap around her middle, under her shirt, and her fingers would flex against her stomach as she dreamt. 

They hadn’t lay like that since Patsy’s hand went to shit. 

She understood why. Patsy had to lay on her back, keep her hand still and untouched. In fact, she hardly slept at all for fear of moving and somehow crushing it or knocking it. Of course she knew it wouldn’t really matter if she _were_ to do that. She wasn’t going to get her hand back anyway. But the thought of how _painful_ it would be? That was bloody terrifying. 

In all honesty, Delia and her now slept with a few inches between them each night. 

They—Delia—would pull out the bed, unfurl the duvet and set the pillows in that same way they always would. They would laugh and smile and it was normal.

Every night Patsy would settle in, her good arm lifted slightly to make space for Delia. Because it was normal. 

But then Delia would lay down with those long inches between them and, well, what else could Patsy do?

Patsy sighed, tapping ash off the end before taking another toke. 

The smoke joined the steam again and she closed her eyes. 

And the sex? Patsy hardly supposed you could call it that anymore. They’d kiss briefly, longingly, but never for as much as Patsy needed. And, well, Delia would masturbate next her and reach over and take care of her at the same time. 

Which was fine. 

If not distressingly unsexy. 

It’s not as though Patsy expected to get right back to business given that one arm was indisposed and she could hardly do her usual routine with just the one. But some intimacy in the moment, perhaps? Some, dare she say, love?

Rationale explained that Delia was simply keeping away to ensure that Patsy was comfortable enough and that she herself didn’t knock the arm. After all, Delia was perfectly fine during the day. Doting. Caring. Loving. No inclination that she held any negative feelings towards Patsy or...Well, anything. 

And yet Patsy was never one to listen to reason when her heart was confused. 

_There must be something more_ , she mused. _There had to be._

Patsy slipped further under the water, eyes squeezed shut, and allowed the rolling of the water to pass over her in waves. 

What should have been silence sounded loud chaos. 

—

Valerie, Patsy, and Trixie had commandeered the sofa, a large bowl of popcorn and a handful of white chocolate biscuits between them, when Delia came bustling through the door, flustered and nothing short of stressed. 

However she paused, “Val?”

“Lucille got called in,” She sputtered out around a mouthful of popcorn. “Before I even got to the door.”

“So you’re watching...What are you watching?” Delia kicked her shoes off, the _fancy_ boots she’d had to wear for work, and dropped her satchel at the door before flopping down beside Patsy. 

“Halloween,” Trixie answered, delicately popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Patsy’s favourite film.”

“Halloween is your favourite film?” Delia asked incredulously. 

Patsy held a biscuit out that Delia willingly took, “Of course it is.”

“Yeah _of course_ ,” Val rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t have fancied Bewitched, could you?”

“Valerie, don’t be a chicken,” Trixie scolded. “If you scream again, you might wake up Barbara.”

“He’s fuckin’ terrifying, mate,” Valerie clutched the pillow in her lap tighter. “He’s a silent, strong, white man. With a _knife_.”

“And _fictional_ ,” Patsy tacked on pointedly. She shuffled in her seat as Delia wrapped an arm around her shoulders, resting against her now. 

“How was Barbara’s appointment?” Delia asked, munching on her cookie. 

Trixie grinned, “Wonderful. We heard the heartbeat it was…”

The trail off allowed for Val, Pats and Deels to share a particular kind of look. 

“She came back, got the... _scouse_ simmering, and went for a nap,” Patsy concluded. 

“Seemed a little overwhelmed,” Valerie added. 

“It was...beautiful, Delia. Really something beautiful.”

Delia beamed, softened, and held onto Patsy tighter. 

Michael Myers watched Laurie Strode from behind a hedge. 

And that was when Delia sat up immediately. 

“I’m sorry, I completely lost my train of thought when I came in,” Delia pulled away from Pats, taking her phone from her pocket. “Something happened. Something...Something bad.”

Trixie paused the movie. 

Val picked a piece of kernel from her tooth, “What happened?”

“A man. A man like us got attacked around the corner from the Town Hall.”

Patsy frowned, “A baker?”

Trixie rolled her eyes, “I think she means a friend of Dorothys.”

Patsy shivered, pulling Delia closer. 

Delia passed her phone to Trixie, who read the news article with a solemn expression. 

“‘Mr Amos, 26, left _The Black Sail_ public house at around ten fifteen and was attacked some minutes later on the corner of Fleet Street. This is the third incident of LGBT-related hate crime in Hempstead in the past six months. When asked what she was doing to stop this rise of activity, Violet Buckle MP for Hempstead and surrounding jurisdictions declined to comment.”

Val swallowed thickly, hand squeezing Patsy’s thigh. 

Delia wrapped her arm around her girlfriend once more, the other arm reaching to hold Trixie’s hand. 

Things certainly had changed. 

Not quite so wonderful. Quite a bit a more scary. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we back baby


	22. part two: chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peep that rating change

“And so what you want to do is use their strength against them, alright?”

Valerie squinted at the man in front of her, utterly perplexed, before turning to Trixie, “Why are we—well, you lot—taking self-defence advice from a  _ dentist _ ?”

Trixie rolled her eyes along with her wrists and neck in some strange sort of lumbering up, “Because not all of us received army training.”

“Yes but he’s a  _ dentist _ .”

Christopher had the decency to look moderately offended, but he covered in well with that dashing, sparkling smile, “I can assure you, Valerie, I am qualified. I teach Krav Maga to youths on the weekends.”

He really was just  _ so charming.  _

Val didn’t have a problem with the chap. Not really. He  _ was _ very nice, and Trixie seemed to like him enough. He made her laugh which Val always considered to be the most important factor when critiquing her sister’s partners. Of course, she hadn’t heard Trixie properly belly laugh at one of his jokes like she often did at Barbara’s or Patsy’s quips. But that was neither here nor there now. 

Christopher made her smile enough and Val figured Trixie needed at least one part of her life to be uncomplicated. 

Speaking of which—

“Where I grew up, it was rampant with gang crime, so my father always taught my sisters and I to walk with our keys between our fingers and not to wear our hair in a ponytail when walking home,” Barbara piped up, stretching herself out too. In an oversized rugby shirt and ridiculously form fitting leggings. 

She started doing lunges. 

In that moment, Val understood what got Trixie all a flutter. 

Valerie cleared her throat—to which Patsy raised an eyebrow at—and added, “Yeah, even when I was a little kid, my gran always made sure I had a little pocket knife for when I went on my nighttime strolls.”

Trixie turned, apprehension clear. 

She never spoke about Poplar, or anyone involved, especially now. Sure when she was first adopted, she mentioned some things like the cold and the loud and the books and the sweet milk. But since she turned ten, nothing. 

Until that phone call. Until the numerous attempts after that to speak to her birth mother. Every time, however, she’d choke and hang up and shake for the rest of the evening. 

So she was trying, after googling it and chatting to Babs, to eliminate the fear by taking away the power her years of silence had given it. A few anecdotes. Bring the memories forward. Address them in casual, safe conversation with her family and people she loves. 

Trix, Pats, Deels and Phyllis knew never to truly interrogate these stories. Just let them wash over. ‘Cause one question too hard and Val had the tendency to lock up. Close off. And it was impossible to turn that blasted key again. 

“You went on late night strolls  _ alone  _ as an infant?” Lucille asked, hand on her hip and looking far too attractive in that bike shorts and sports bra get up. 

Lucille and Barbara, however, weren’t quite so well attuned to her internal lines and often crossed them with compassion but left every muscle in Valerie’s body cringing for an exit. 

Sniffing, she anchored herself in the moment, at the bakery, now closed for the evening, covered in foam mattresses and with Christopher standing in front of Babs, Trix, and Lu (Delia had a late night in the school) walking them through a strategy. Her and Pats, thanks to the army training combined with Val’s learned fight response and Patsy’s general intimidating disposition, were, gratefully, sitting it out. 

Valerie nodded, biting her lip, “Anyway, you three get to the self-defence learning—“ She leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs, resting her ankle at her knee. “—Pats and me’ll enjoy the view.”

“You better be keeping your eyes on me, precious,” Lucille smirked, bringing her arms behind her head to stretch. 

“And Patsy  _ really _ shouldn’t be looking at anyone—” Barbara jested. 

Patsy crossed her arms, having freed her hand from the sling for a while, and huffed, “I’ll have you know that just because—“

“—except maybe Trixie,” Barbara finished with a jovial tease. 

She tried. She  _ really truly  _ tried. But Valerie couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her lips. Her hand smacked up to her mouth to try and quell some of the noise. 

Lucille bit back a giggle. Patsy rolled her eyes. Barbara winked. And Trixie…

Trixie just waved it off. 

It seemed having Christopher around to solidify her heterosexuality had Trix completely fine with jokes surrounding her and Pats’ former fandango. 

Valerie observed Lucille, Barbara, and couldn’t help but wonder if Trixie had forgotten about the potential of multi-gender attraction in that rationalisation. 

Ah well. 

There was only so much she could do to help her sister in her sexuality struggles. After all, it was always a personal experience. 

She hoped that when—if—Trixie  _ did _ come to some sort of definition that Christopher would be alright with it. 

Currently the man was blinking furiously with eyes wider than a bloody apple pie. 

“W-What?”

Trixie, masking nervousness with a nip of her lip, smiled up at Christopher, “Patsy and I are former friends with benefits. Never any feelings attached. But we were both lonely once upon a time.”

Christopher nodded, glancing at Patsy, who gave a small wave in return. 

“Right, well, I’m glad you...felt comfortable enough to tell me,” Christopher smiled softly, although giving Barbara a somewhat peculiar look. “In effect.”

Barbara toed the floor sheepishly. 

“Nothing much to tell really, it’s very much over,” Trixie said tersely and then clapped her hands. “Let’s get to it.”

Christopher seemed to agree and moved back on the mats, beginning them to walk through basic manoeuvres. 

Patsy leaned over to Val, “He seems alright with that.”

Val, busy admiring Lucille’s form, hummed, “Yes.”

“Don’t be  _ such _ a lesbian, Valerie.”

“You dropped a tray of pain au raisins at the very first sight of Delia, you don’t get to comment,” Val didn’t take her eyes away. 

“You told Lucille you loved her on the first date.” 

“And  _ you  _ didn’t say one full sentence to Trixie until you’d known her for two weeks.”

Patsy pursed her lips, “PTSD.”

“Gay arse,” Valerie retorted. 

“I miss Delia,” Patsy sighed, picking a bit of lint from her sleeve. 

Valerie nudged her, “She’ll be home soon. ‘Sides, she said she was  _ nearly _ done with her lesson plans for the term now. No more late nights.”

“I suppose,” Patsy wrinkled her nose, completely infatuated with the imaginary lint on her sleeve. 

“Is...everything alright with you two?” Val pressed gently as she watched Patsy fidget. 

Patsy swallowed, “I think so. It’s just...odd, her not being here all the time. I got used to it, I suppose. Not seeing her all day is a...upsetting consequence of her success. I’m so proud of her though—Teaching is perfect for her.”

“ _ And _ you can do some sexy role plays but, like,  _ actually _ ,” Val stuck her tongue out. 

Patsy, who would usually just roll her eyes and remark something about polite company, instead grew quite sullen. 

“Pats?”

“I can make adjustments for most everything,” Patsy started, looking ahead at Christopher flipping Lucille over onto the mats. “The kitchen, my self-care routines, I can even drive. Dance. But there are some things that I don’t...That adjusting them wouldn’t be...The same. Or...I don't know. I don’t want to just manage having sex with her. I want to be able to...do it how we used to. Even when it would seize sometimes, it was never permanent. But it is now. And I’m fine with that. But adjusting how we made love? It’s just...What if in the choices we make to make it possible for me, it’s not good for her anymore?”

Honest Pats was still someone Val was trying to get to grips with. Before the Dinner Party Disaster or the Hong Kong Runaway (she was still trying to find the right phrase to title that period of time), Patsy would never have been so open so as to discuss her relationship worries with them. She may have done in some thinly veiled hypotheticals when very tired over a cigarette and a scotch. But never quite so plainly. 

Val loved Honest Pats. Well, she loved every Pats but Honest Pats was a special one. 

It only made her wish she was better at having something to say. 

“Delia loves you, Pats,” Valerie said softly. “It wouldn’t matter if you only did shitty missionary after Law and Order on a Tuesday night.”

“You and I both know that unenjoyable sex is a dead ringer for a failed relationship,” Patsy said frankly. “Love doesn’t outweigh that. No matter what people say.”

Val couldn’t argue with that. 

“You’ve had it, haven’t you? Babs inter—“

“A bit of mutual…Hardly anything worth shouting about,” Patsy sighed, lolling her head back against the counter and looking at the ceiling. “I can’t position myself above her, I can’t flip her, I can’t...you know, use one hand for one action and the other for the other action. The things that I know she  _ enjoys _ .”

“You have to talk to her about it, chick,” Val rubbed her leg. “Like I said, she loves you. And you promised to be open and honest with her.”

Patsy turned to her, a forced smile, “What if I’m scared?”

“Why would you be scared?”

Patsy rolled her lip between her teeth and shrugged, “What if...What if it  _ is _ too much for her? And she can’t...She can’t bear it anymore?”

“Delia wouldn’t do that,” Valerie said, shifting in her seat to cup Patsy’s face between both hands, staring her dead in the eyes. “This is your panic talking, alright? And we agreed that Panicked Pats isn’t exactly the most logical of thinkers, is she?” Patsy reluctantly bobbed her head. “You know Delia? Tiny, angry, Welsh, habit of ending up on the concrete? She is  _ not _ going to give up on you because of this disability. She might if you close up, lock away the key, and never share a feeling though.”

Val patted her cheeks before letting go. 

Patsy sighed once more, “You’re right.”

“Usually am.”

Patsy raised an eyebrow. 

Val acquiesced, “Alright  _ sometimes _ I’m right.”

Another eyebrow raised. 

“Rarely. Fine. Are you happy?”

Patsy beamed, “Extremely.” She reached behind her. “Ginger nut?”

“Always,” Val took the offered biscuit with a smirk. 

She popped it in her mouth in one go because she never claimed to have etiquette and chewed loudly as Christopher clapped his hands together. 

“Right, Val, I think this is where your expertise comes in.”

Valerie blinked her attention back to the self-defence class in front of her, picking a piece of biscuit out of her teeth with her tongue, “Me?”

Christopher grinned, “I want you to attack Barbara.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes, “Excuse me?”

Barbara bobbed her head, “Yes. Right. Okay.”

Christopher looked between them all, “I figure with Valerie’s combat knowledge and, well, all functioning appendages—Sorry, Patsy—”

Patsy just laughed lightly and waved him off. 

“—She could attack like a random person would in the street, and we can see what you’ve picked up.”

“And you want me to go first?” Barbara asked. The sleeves of her shirt ran over her hands and she looked positively tiny despite her lanky figure. 

Val frowned, “You want me to attack a pregnant woman?”

Christopher quirked his head, “As  _ if _ you’re going to attack her, Barbara will demonstrate what she’s learned by incapacitating you before you have the chance.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, you won't hurt me, I’ve had my collarbone broken three times in rugby—I don’t think anything can be more painful than that,” Barbara beamed proudly. 

“You tell yourself that in six months,” Lucille said dryly, taking a sip of her coffee. 

Wait. 

Babs rocked back and forth on her heels. 

“Babsy,” Val leaned forward in her chair. “ _ Rugby _ ?”

“Yes,” Barbara bobbed her head, enthusiastically. “Most weekends when Lucille is at church. Labours pending, of course.”

“You actually,” Trixie licked her lips. “Play rugby?”

“Well, not anymore, on account of,” Babs gestured to her stomach. “Which is quite disappointing but...Small sacrifices.”

Her eyes flickered something. 

Patsy interjected, “Although my knowledge of rugby is limited to Delia swearing in a fit of Welsh rage at the Six Nations, I suspect that you’re quite good.”

“Thank you,” Barbara smiled. 

“Alright,” Val stood, lifting her arms to stretch her back. 

She stepped forward.

“So like a rugby tackle then?” Val asked. “Easy one to start with?”

“Go ahead,” Christopher agreed. 

Barbara nodded. 

Trixie and Lucille stood back then, Lucille admiring Val keenly, Trixie cautiously watching over Barbara. 

“Okay, okay.”

Valerie swallowed hard, staring at this tiny looking Babs. Just a simple tackle. She’d stop it. It’d be fine. 

But she looked  _ so small _ . 

But then this was necessary, wasn’t it? In case someone tried to hurt her.

The hospital photographs of Tony Amos had hid the press and Val’s stomach had hit the floor. That couldn’t happen to them, not to her, Pats or Deels. Not to Trixie or Babs or Lucille. There was no way.

No way.

And so she charged at Barbara. 

Babs made the motion to grab her arm in an effort to defend herself but Valerie had always been far too quick for her own good and slammed into the woman hard, sending them both crashing to the mats with a resounding smack. 

“Barbara!” was Trixie’s definitive shout. 

Realising what had happened, Valerie jumped back, eyes wide, afraid. 

She’d just charged at a---

She actually just---

A pregnant woman?

“Shitting hell, Babs,” Val panicked, helping the woman sit up and checking her face over. “I’m so sorry, are you alright?”

“ _ Alright _ ?” Trixie’s shrill shriek rang out as she hastened next to Barbara. “You just sent her to the floor.”

“I’m fine,” Barbara chuckled and she rubbed her head a little bit. “Everything is still intact.”

“But the baby--” Trixie started.

“Will be fine,” Lucille interjected, stepping over. “The impact wasn’t that hard and women's bodies are designed to keep baby safe especially at this early part of the pregnancy.”

“I think my pride is hurt more than anything else,” Barbara laughed. “I used to have the fastest reaction times on my team.”

Trixie stroked Barbara’s arm, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone -- except maybe Patsy who had found something of interest in the bakery book she was flicking through.

“Maybe we should have mentioned that Valerie was the best sprinter in our high school athletic team,” Trixie said softly. 

Val, heart still thudding, said, “Wouldn’t say the best. Certainly quick though.”

“Let’s try that again,” Christopher said calmly. “Just...Maybe a little bit slower this time, Val.”

“Alright,” Val cleared her throat. 

Trixie bit her lip, clearly unenthusiastic with the idea but relented anyway. 

Barbara waved awkwardly, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

And so Valerie charged again. 

-

“Just be glad that Delia wasn’t there,” Patsy said, dropping down on the sofa besides Trixie. “Or your arm would  _ actually _ have been broken.”

Val, perched on the ground with her back against the TV cabinets, narrowed her eyes as she held the ice pack to her bicep. 

Delia wrapped her arms around Patsy, “I’ve had to ward off many handsy boys from the Valleys—broke at  _ least _ three fingers.” She nuzzled into Patsy’s hair like a cat. 

The Nomad Cat herself, Patricia, was curled up on Trixie’s lap, perfectly content to just purr tiredly. 

Lucille and Barbara came bustling through the doors, swinging bags of starch and salt that they administered accordingly. 

“The wait time is always ridiculous at  _ Chummy’s _ ,” Barbara lamented, sitting down on Trixie’s other side and unfurling the paper dish. 

Trixie, deciding her beef and broccoli was not all she fancied, plucked a chip from Barbara’s plate, “But it does the best chips in the town.”

Barbara gaped. 

“Trixie’s always been the worst chip thief around,” Val teased, chewing on her own chips and curry sauce. 

Lucille settled down beside her. 

“Well, I had to nap one before Barbara committed a cardinal sin,” Trixie said innocently. 

Barbara rolled her eyes and poured the little carton of gravy over her chips and fish. “This is the  _ only _ way to have fish and chips.”

Patsy clicked her tongue, “I’m becoming increasingly aware of the North South divide the more time I spend around you, Babs.”

“Gravy and vinegar?” Trixie curled her lip. “Absolutely vile.”

“Nah, I think you’re just two posh totties,” Delia chided, swiping one of Babs’ chips for herself before cuddling right back into Patsy. 

Valerie observed how Patsy wrapped her left arm around Delia’s waist, hand resting limply at her hip. 

They seemed natural. Fine. Happy. 

Delia nibbled on Patsy’s ear. 

Normal. 

It made her want to lean over and kiss Lucille’s cheek. So she did. In a blissful few moments they finally got to spend together. 

“How’s the case going?” She prompted quietly, watching how Lu twirled the noodles around her fork somewhat forlornly. 

Lucille sighed, “There’s...There has to be something. But the longer we take, well, the longer the tumours have to expand.”

“You’ll find it. I’m sure you will,” Val reached over and squeezed her leg. 

Lucille didn’t seem convinced, “We’ve exhausted almost every bit of research from the United Kingdom, the States...Patrick is looking further afield but it’s hardly as if we’re both knowledgeable in tropical medicines.”

Val gave a small smile, “You know who is though…” and she gestured with her fork over to the sofa. 

Where Patsy was eating her fish and chips with chopsticks and engaged in a conversation about the merits of chopstick over western cutlery eating. 

“Even before her hand went again, she never ate with a knife and fork,” Trixie chided. “She eats cereal with a miso soup spoon.”

Patsy just rolled her eyes. 

“Patsy?” Lucille asked, frowning. 

Val bobbed her head, “Did a major research paper into a specific type of ringworm found in the Japanese jungle and how the incubation for some POWs from the war meant it didn’t hit them for fourteen years.”

Lucille’s eyes bulged, “ _ What _ ?”

“Mhm,” Val said. “It’s a really interesting read. She tries to get up to the School of Tropical Medicine to see talks they have on there. So if you want tropical medicine—there’s your girl.”

“You read her thesis?” Lucille queried. 

“Yeah, I read a lot. All kinds. Always have,” She smiled shyly now. “The row of law books on the shelf there, they’re mine. Mum bought them for me when I...When I was in sixth form.”

“Law books?”

“Very expensive set apparently,” Val pushed her food around her plate. “I was applying for Law before...I needed to leave.”

Lucille considered her for a moment before leaning over and stroking her cheek, “You’re wonderful, Valerie Dyer.”

“I’m just me,” She turned her head to kiss Lucille’s hand. 

Lucille’s reply was cut short by a ghastly groan of discontent from Trixie who slammed her phone down on the arm of the sofa. 

“Yes?” Delia blinked at her. 

“ _ Violet Buckle _ ,” Trixie declared with disdain. “Is refusing to call the homophobic attacks what they are. She’s just referring to them as  _ random acts of violence _ .”

“The election is coming up,” Barbara chewed on her lip. “To be so pro-LGBT would alienate most of her voters, I assume. Not that it matters anyway.”

“Gosh, I didn’t realise I woke up in nineteen fifty nine,” Patsy deadpanned. “Quick, Deels, let’s run away before they throw us in the madhouse.”

Delia chuckled, “Reckon we could get that trip up to Scotland I’ve been wanting.”

“You want to go to  _ Scotland _ ?” Lucille asked. 

Patsy sighed, “My father has— _ had _ —a house in the country, she’s been begging me for months.”

“She’s  _ terrible _ ,” Trixie continued on her tirade, relentless. “What has she  _ actually  _ done as a member of parliament?”

“Well…” Valerie started, fully intent on answering. 

Only her mind drew up a blank. 

“They did plant that tree in the park for Sister Evangelina,” Delia pointed out. “That was authorised by her, I suppose.”

Trixie set her jaw, “Stop the presses—our MP planted a  _ tree _ .”

“I’m sure that was Sister Julienne’s insistence too,” Valerie frowned. She shook her head. “Frankly, she only wins because no one else runs against her. Least that’s what Mrs Turner says. Violet’s been MP since two thousand and five.”

“Mhm,” Lucille nodded. “For as long as I’ve been here, there've been two elections. Only Violet and the Conservatives on the ballot—no representation from the other parties.”

Trixie crossed her arms, “Well, it’s about time someone did, we can’t keep allowing her to get away with…doing  _ nothing _ .”

“I wonder what her parliamentary voting history is like,” Val mused. 

Barbara scoffed, “As a Conservative, I can only imagine it’s something along the lines of Starve the Miners—Sorry Delia.”

“My mam’s biggest shame,” Delia sighed. “Me moving to a Conservative town.”

Valerie furrowed her eyebrows, “So she doesn’t know about Patsy’s—”

Delia shook her head adamantly, “Not worth the aggravation.”

“Know about Patsy’s what?” Barbara asked, chip hanging from her mouth. 

As Val weighed the pros and cons of informing the  _ Liverpudlian  _ of Patsy’s heritage, she found it soon became redundant when Lucille’s shrill ringtone broke apart the conversation. 

“It’s the hospital, sorry,” Lucille kissed Val’s cheek before taking the call into the other room. 

Delia was kissing up Patsy’s neck when Valerie looked back over. Barbara was attempting  _ not _ to stare at them but did so anyway, particularly longingly. 

Lucille sighed heavily as she came back, “I have to go.”

“I’ll walk you down,” Val said, trying not to let the upset get to her. Time with Lu was growing rarer and Val, despite her steely disposition, was missing her being around quite a bit. 

They parted with a long, desperate kiss against the window of the bakery and soon Lucille was cycling up the hill, leaving Val to watch her go wistfully. 

  
  


-

  
  


Trixie found herself, as one often does at the turn of the season with the full moon high in the sky, waking rather abruptly in the middle of the night. The lunar light was tearing through a gap in her blinds and bathing her room in a chiaroscuro effect. Dramatic. Shadowed. Angles. 

She couldn’t tell you what had woken her for the apartment creaked in silence. Barbara, pressed against her back, was still. 

Although…

In her slumber, it seemed Barbara had fallen into a simple ministration. Namely running her fingers up and down the back of Trixie’s arm. Over and over. Leaving goose pimples in her track. 

It should have been relaxing, Barbara’s action, yet what it stirred deep in Trixie was anything but. 

It had her dragging her lower lip between her teeth, shifting slightly to angle her hips in such a way that they pressed ever so gently back against Barbara. Her fingers, slowly, they knotted the corner of a pillowcase. The stroking continued. She shifted once more, pressure swarming, and—

A shaking, low breath pushed past her ear. 

Barbara’s hand stopped moving. 

Trixie, driven by urges beyond her control, chose not to simply return to sleep. Rather, she rolled over. 

To face Barbara. 

Who’s wide, wide eyes stared straight at her lips. 

Trixie jut her tongue out, just barely, to wet them and with the action dragged out a whimper from Barbara. 

Barely audible. 

Clandestine, almost. 

Barbara moved her thigh. Simple. For comfort. But it nudged Trixie’s own, shooting a thrill between them. 

It was Trixie’s turn to expel a shaking, uncertain, ubiquitous breath. How it filled the room with everything that could never quite be said. 

Barbara’s hand on Trixie’s arm moved to her hip. 

Trixie’s fingers locked the fabric of Barbara’s sleep shirt. 

A long, hard stare. 

The pressure between them, between Trixie’s legs, did as things often do. 

Exploded. 

Trixie surged forward, dragging Barbara into her, and catching her lips in a hot, messy kiss. 

Teeth, tongues, ravaging each other in the spirit of salvation and desperation. Wet. Fire. Biting and tugging and sucking. 

Barbara moved, straddling Trixie’s hips, clamping them between her thighs and using her weight to stop Trixie from bucking into her. It  _ hurt _ as Barbara grind down on her, pushing her to stillness in the sheets. She felt no choice, Trixie, to attempt to sit up, regain control, but Barbara’s hand reached down. Grabbed her neck. Choked her into submission. 

Of course, Trixie acquiesced. She was no stranger to this and, in fact, found that it triggered a surge in that pressure that had her gasping out a plea. 

“ _ Barbara _ ,” Trixie moaned. “ _ Please _ .”

Barbara ground her teeth, tightening her hold on Trixie’s throat for a moment before freeing her. 

She didn’t have time to regain her breath, for Barbara was kissing her again. And kissing her and kissing her. And her hands were moving, they were moving and then—

And then—

“ _ Please _ ,” Trixie begged. Nails scratching up Barbara’s back. Digging into her shoulders. 

Pulling her in. 

Harder. 

More. 

More. 

_ Barbara.  _

  
  
  


-

  
  


When Valerie was a young ruffian back in school, she often considered her teachers to be the most intimidating, put together, intelligent people in the world. Authority oozed out of them and she yearned for praise, for guidance, from them all. Teachers were those people that you always figured were the  _ epitome _ of adults. Proper grown up. 

However seeing Delia flick the kitchen aid on and completely cover herself and half the bloody bakery in icing sugar really did negate all of those perceptions her younger self had. 

Val rested her chin on the heel of her hand and watched the event occur with a sort of conflicted bemusement.

Her instincts were telling her to go and assist Deels, for at least Val could fangle the mixer somewhat now. But seeing the flustered woman potter around in the evening darkness with sugar cascading like premature snow around her was certainly entertaining. 

Val had only come down because she had a late night craving for banana chips and there were none in the flat kitchen. 

She hadn’t expected to see Delia participating in an illegal bout of baking (for she was still banned after the events of last year and the bloody spoon incident). She was some little mouse, Delia, scurrying around in the dark with only the light of the preheating industrial oven lighting the room. 

God she wanted some banana chips. 

“Sorry, Mr Abominable Snowman, I don’t mean to disturb you,” Val teased as she popped through into the kitchen. 

The squeak the woman let out was startling out of character. 

The slap to her arm that left a white dust handprint was not.

Delia blew some sugar from her bangs, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Bit early for your usual birthday cake experimentation,” Valerie frowned, reaching up and brushing more of the sugar from Delia’s fringe. “Not her birthday for another two weeks.”

Delia huffed, “I wanted to practice. Get it right this time.”

“Delia, I’m sure Phyllis or Trix won’t mind—“

“ _ I mind _ ,” Delia interrupted, sharp and unexpectedly emotional. She shook her head, sighing. “I just...want to be able to do  _ something _ for her.”

There it is. 

“I’ve been so busy with this new job and...and I hardly feel like I see her anymore,” Delia lamented, wrinkling her nose. “And when I do she’s...You keep her company during the day, Trixie and Phyllis are readjusting the kitchen for her when it stops being so sore and I...I don’t know what I can do to help.”

Now Valerie had never been one to really get involved in other people's relationships. She found it, frankly, no bother to her and oftentimes, from what she’d seen, it brought more harm than good getting involved in other people’s affairs. 

At least not outwardly anyway. 

She’d keep her thoughts and her knowledge to herself. 

That was the easiest and kindest way. 

But Pats and Deels…

Well, Patsy’s biggest character flaw had always been her struggle with the Ancient Art of Communication. And Delia was quite headstrong and open. 

Valerie licked her lips and sighed, “Pats just needs you to...Reassure her.”

Delia squinted, “Reassure her about what?”

“Just...stuff,” Val inhaled sharply. “She’s worried that...I guess, her biggest worry with everything is that you haven’t—…”

This was not being phrased right at all. 

Valerie took a second. 

“She’s thinking about the long term implications of her disability on your sex life,” She said bluntly. 

Delia blinked. And gaped. 

“Wh…” She frowned. “She’s worried about…”

Val nodded meekly, “Amongst other things. Pats just...She’s afraid that it’s not going to be the same and that it’ll...You know all she wants is to make you happy. She’s scared she won’t be able to do that anymore. And that you’ll leave. Patsy can’t bear to be alone anymore.”

Delia looked down at the mixer, at the icing everywhere, and she shook her head. “This is...This was stupid.”

“It wasn’t, it—”

“Are you okay to clear up?” Delia asked quickly. “I...I need to go for a walk.”

She didn’t actually give Val enough time to answer, breezing past her and out of the back door at such a speed that Valerie wasn’t exactly sure what’d just happened.

Valerie cleaned in silence, picking at the banana chips she’d been craving, before retreating up to bed. 

She had hope, settled into her pillow, that the next day would bring content once more. But soon, her bedroom door opened and Delia lay down beside her, leaving Patsy in the living room. 

Alone. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So developments............  
> Let me know what you think!


	23. part two: chapter three

Patsy awoke cold along with sunrise, or the first vestiges of it. The end of October always brought with it that very pertinent chill that had her wrapping the blanket around her so much tighter and blindly grasping on to whatever warmth she could find. Delia would comment, as had Valerie and Trixie, that Patsy was like a space heater, some sort of  _ “sexy” _ hot water bottle. In the winter months, they’d often cling to her for some heat during the daylight hours or even in the evening. However, that alleged warmth was never something that Patsy could feel for herself, in fact, she found herself rather chilly most of the time. 

Delia, oddly still beside her and absolutely dead to the world, didn’t seem too disturbed when Patsy rubbed her cold nose against the column of her neck, searching for that cosy feeling she so desperately wanted on this brisk Saturday…

Saturday.

Oh  _ good  _ giddy aunt.

Thirty-five.

Patsy let out a long, exhausted breath and curled even closer into Delia. Usually, as in before things began to change, Delia would, regardless of how deep a sleep she was in, wrap her arms around Patsy and bend into her too. It was what they always had been like. Always. From their very first night together, they’d twist around each other and sleep intertwined. Even in the middle of Summer there would  _ at least _ be some leg tangling going on. 

But Delia was still, her arms tucked under her head, not around Patsy. And not making any move to.

Well, yes, off to a good start this thirty-fifth year seemed to be. 

Patsy sighed once more, squeezing Delia closer.

Two weeks it had been since the self defence fiasco and talking to Val and…

Two weeks of waking up alone. 

Nomads Bakery opened at seven (seven thirty on delivery days) which meant Patsy usually roused at six to give her enough time for breakfast (black coffee and a cigarette), a quick wash, and to get downstairs with morning prep by six thirty. And for the past two weeks, Delia left at five fifty five. There was no early morning cuddling as Trixie scampered out for her daily jog, no kissing as Valerie crooned out something terrible in the shower as Barbara hastily barged in with her god awful morning sickness. None of that. 

Even on weekends. 

Delia would get up to go for a long bike ride that had her peddling back about ten thirty, legs quivering from the strain and fringe matted to her forehead with unkempt sweat. 

She’d even halted the daytime affection of which destroyed Patsy even more. The distance at night, Patsy figured she could handle that, if Delia still touched her in the day. Still teased her. Still stole kisses from her before rushing off as she always was. But it was gone. 

All of it. 

And how Patsy was at a loss. 

Delia, aggressively honest, furiously loyal, was pulling away with no explanation. And she simply had no idea on how to tug her back. 

Had Delia finally  _ really _ truly thought about Patsy’s incapacitation? The consequences of such a thing? And had she decided it was not worth it? She was not worth it?

Patsy couldn’t blame her if that was the case. After all, Patsy was more than half back to full movement when they first met, damn near completely recovered until about a month ago. It wasn’t on the cards for Patsy to become fully disabled once more, wasnt how she nor Delia had pictured their relationship. 

So she was done. And pulling away so painfully slowly that Patsy had a mind to plead with her to just cut the wire now. It would hurt dreadfully so and Patsy would resign to the rest of her life in solitude. But it would make Delia happy. She could be with someone else. Someone with...Well, someone who could hold both her hands at the wedding altar. 

Patsy squeezed her eyes tight and in a moment of pure, weak selfishness resigned herself to deal with that tomorrow. Today was her birthday after all, and one should be allowed to cling onto happiness even if the festivities usually bothered her. 

Delia shifted and for one shimmering moment of breathless delight Patsy thought those arms would wrap around her, hold her close, that those lips she loved so much would press a soft kiss to her head and everything would be fine. 

Delia rolled over, back to Patsy, and curled away from her touch. 

Patsy pulled back. 

Tomorrow then. It’d be over.

Scraping her lower lip between her teeth, Patsy observed the soft tranquility of the sleeping Delia beside her. 

Her Delia. 

Completely unexpected, unwanted at first, how Delia had bulldozed into her equilibrium and upset her into the joy of being truly, irrevocably loved. No one else could she picture waking up each day to, holding close, making love to. Delia even wormed the concept of lifetime commitment into her. Marriage. An institution she’d been formerly repulsed by. 

She wanted to marry Delia some day. 

But that wasn’t to happen now. 

Delia didn’t want her anymore. 

And that was…

Well, that was that. 

No use beating around the bush as it were. One more day, just for her birthday, she could pretend it was all fine. 

Then tomorrow?

Get on with it. Roll with the punches. 

Only the barest hint of regret, at opening herself up to love. How she thought she could best that sodden pain that was always going to come along with it. 

Now Nietzsche?

_ Happy bloody birthday, Patience.  _

Patsy moved her hand to pinch her nose. Or thought she did. The offending appendage simply smacked her forehead with a hard thud. 

Now that the pain has subsided quite a bit she was sometimes forgetting about the  _ actual _ source of her problems. The last time, when she went to use her hand for something, she at least got a wiggle. She could  _ feel _ it. This time? Nothing. Just dead weight tacked on her wrist that she could swing with no purpose. 

Patsy wrinkled her nose and huffed. 

And then Trixie’s bedroom door began to open. 

Wishing to grasp onto the tranquility of the very early morning for just a moment longer, Patsy pulled the blanket up to her nose, fluttering her eyes back closed. 

But not before catching sight of something quite peculiar. 

Now Patsy knew Trixie well. In fact, Patsy knew Trixie’s  _ body _ really well. Her skin especially. She  _ had _ at some point kissed every part of it. 

So Patsy knew that the large, bright red bite mark below her collarbone was not a usual feature of Trixie’s alabaster skin. 

Which meant…

Good  _ Lord _ . 

Delia moved once more. This time, it was the tell-tale movements she did every morning. A sudden stiffness, followed by an arching back as she stretched. Sat up. Rubbed her eyes. Then still again. Patsy felt her watching her, the hairs on the back of her neck always rose when someone persisted their gaze for just too long. Fight or flight. 

Gentle, delicate fingers stroked a long line along her cheek and a whispered, “ _ Happy Birthday, Pats, _ ” passed between them. 

And then she was gone. 

The front door clicked closed. 

Patsy opened her eyes. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


“Valerie, I’ll say the same thing I said to you when Delia came for an interview,” Trixie commented tersely, straightening her blazer about her shoulders. “Dress to impress.”

Valerie pulled the strings of her hoodie, “Why do  _ we _ need to impress? We’re giving him the job anyway.”

“I  _ know _ but we’re still a group of professional women so we should act like it,” Trixie retorted. 

Patsy raised an eyebrow, “Do you recall the numerous times that Valerie has assaulted me with my own baked goods?”

“Besides that.”

Val cocked her head, “You two had sex on the table.”

“Besides  _ that _ ,” Trixie huffed. 

Val dragged her tongue over her teeth, shoving her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie, “What do we even know about this kid anyway to just be... _ giving _ him the job?”

“We know that he can ride a bike with a trailer on the back,” Trixie said. She referred back to the computer. “And that we’ve been paying Phyllis’ fuel expenses for the past month and it’s putting a higher dent in our profits than Delia’s monthly wage did.”

“It’s because she insists on driving that--what does Delia call it?--cause of the hole in the ozone layer?” Val frowned. 

Phyllis was very passionate about her  _ genuine _ nineteen fifty nine Morris Minor. Even if it did cost more than the entire bakery to insure. 

“And he’s only eighteen so you can pay him less than Deels,” Patsy offered. 

At that Val and Trixie both paused, turning to narrow their eyes sharply at Patsy. 

Patsy rolled her own eyes and raised her hands defensively, “Just a suggestion. Forgive me—the ideologies of my birthright are known to pop up occasionally.” 

Trixie and Valerie shook it off. 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Valerie squeezed her shoulder. “He can ride a bike, he’s cheap—“ A glare sent Patsy’s way— “and he’s the oldest of Mrs Turner’s many brethren.”

“Four,” Trixie said. “She has four children.”

Patsy shook her head in sheer dismay, “Far too many. You should advise Barbara stop after this one, can’t have more than one infant running about here.”

“Barbara can have however many children she pleases, Patience,” Trixie replied. “Now, it’s his first job interview so we should go easy on him but not too easy as to set him up for future failure.” 

She handed them over a piece of paper each with specific questions on it. 

“I’m going to introduce us, ask him my questions, then Pats, then Val,” Trixie said. 

Val looked down at her sheet, “ _ What’s your favourite pastry? _ Can’t I at least ask him if he doesn’t mind babysitting Pats some days?”

“No,” came from the both of them. 

Patsy admired her list, “I hope he’s not as intense as his mother. She colour codes the different vowels in our Cantonese classes.”

Val chuckled at that. Since Pats was on a very loosely mandated bed rest, she’d managed to find time to work in those promised language classes as Dr and Mrs Turner successfully adopted their newest addition. She’d been a bit foggy at first but fell into it like a native tongue, Mrs Turner a willing and dutiful student. 

“He’s on a gap year,” Trixie explained. “I’m sure he wants to relax a little bit before university.” She glanced at the clock. “Phyllis is going to man the desk while our pumpkin loaves are baking—Timothy should be here any minute.”

“If he wanted to impress, he’d be early,” Patsy tsked. 

Val swatted her with the paper. 

  
  


-

  
  


Timothy Turner was cute. Lanky and innocent, his foot tapped nervously as he sat across from the three of them in his pressed shirt and dress pants. His eyes were sharp, inquiring, and he smiled nervously at Val’s reassuring wink. 

Trixie crossed her hands on top of her sheet of question paper. Awfully intimidating how her nails rapped across the surface, but she  _ had  _ always been a bit of a softie when it came to nervous individuals. 

Patsy was staring off into space, dragging her thumb over the palm of her hand, caught up in  _ something _ that Val was going to have to figure out somewhat later. 

“So, Timothy,” Trixie started, smiling lightly at the boy. “Why do you want this job?”

“You're allowed to say just for the money, Chuck,” Val sent him another wink. 

Tim quirked his lips, fiddling with his fingers, “Um. Yes the money would be good. Very good. But I want to work  _ here _ because, well…” He cleared his throat, straightened his back. 

Patsy raised an eyebrow. 

“Since you three opened and...well, started hosting your events and-and Trixie, the work you’ve done at the council meetings, you’ve all made this town a little...a little safer for the queer community——“

_ Oh.  _

Val turned to look between Patsy and Trixie, sharing a touched stare. 

“—and it,” Tim paused, considering his words. “I...It’s gotten bad again but-but I know that you guys are, sort of, here and, well, it’s not as scary as it used to be.”

Tim, with a tick not dissimilar to Val’s own, picked at the skin on the back of his hands. She couldn’t help but reach over and cover them, a tight squeeze following. 

“I would be honoured to be a part of it,” He finished, a quivering grin about his face. 

Patsy softened, “That’s kind, Tim.”

Trixie, even her  _ overwhelming heterosexual  _ self, returned his grin, “Awfully so. And we value kindness and compassion above all in those we work with—our suppliers, our employees, all of them.”

Tim nodded. His nerves seeming to dissipate. 

“So what is it then, kid?” Val asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “You play the flute?”

“Valerie,” Patsy sighed. “You can’t just ask the interview candidates if they have a proclivity for aerophone instruments.”

Val shrugged. “Fine. Are you... _ you know _ ?”

“ _ Val _ ,” Trixie rolled her eyes. Hard. 

Tim let out a laugh before biting his lip to hold it back. 

“I apologise for my sister, she’s…”

“Trix is the only straight person here,” Val said frankly. Patsy stiffened. Trixie sighed. “I think she’s starting to feel overwhelmed.”

“ _ Phyllis _ ,” Trixie hissed. 

Val waved that off. 

“So, Tim,” Patsy interrupted them, trying to regain some of the professionalism that Trixie was so bloody insistent on. She glanced down at the paper. “Two delivery runs a day with the understanding that if a customer has ordered for an event, we fit them in? How does that sound for you?”

“Perfect,” Tim bobbed his head. “I’m used to getting up early and I know the town like the back of my hand.”

“They are  _ very delicate _ pastries and cakes, Tim,” Patsy said rather sternly. “They’re expected to arrive in the same condition they left, are you confident you can do that?”

Tim nodded once more, “Certainly. And if they didn’t, I’d make sure to offer my sincerest apologies and would pay for the remaking of them out of my wages.”

Patsy eyed him, pursing her lips, and then shook her head, “Well, we wouldn’t expect  _ that _ of you, sometimes things happen. But the apology is very good, nothing worse than a customer who’s been waiting for a long while for their batch of sourdough.”

“Exactly,” Trixie smiled. “Sometimes things can go wrong but the most important thing we’ve found is effective communication.”

Val paused at that, considered her counterparts. Irony screamed back at her. 

“We also might,” Trixie continued. “If you’re willing, of course, require some assistance in the kitchen or on the register during busy days or days when we’ve a few weddings booked in.”

“I’d be more than willing,” Tim replied. “I used to bake with my mum—my birth mum—all the time when I was little. It’s actually how I bonded with my stepmum when she was first dating my dad, we could talk about...things...when we were baking. Just us.”

“I know all about that,” Trixie beamed. “Mum and Phyllis used to hightail Valerie and I into the kitchen every Saturday and Sunday to teach us how to cook, how to bake, and we’d just…”

“Chat, have fun, get yelled at for licking the spoon. ‘S what helped get Pats here settled into our family when she moved in with us—her and Phyllis kneading dough in the kitchen,” Val tacked on.

Patsy fidgeted. 

Val tugged on the strings of her hoodie slightly. “Your mum is one of our most valued customers—think every time there’s anything that can possibly be celebrated, she calls us in to cater it.”

Tim snorted, “She has your business card and flyer tacked to the fridge. When you first applied for the permit to open, she was so excited. She said, there’s one thing that this town has been missing and it’s a little bakery—nothing solves a problem like a cup of tea and a freshly made cake.”

“She’s not wrong.” Val smirked. 

Tim bit his lip, “She said when...when you opened, and you...The flag you have by the window, she was speaking to Ms Crane about it. About...How she supported you, Valerie, and now Patsy and...um, the old driver?”

“Delia,” Patsy said, giving an encouraging nod. 

“Yeah. And how easy it is to accept your child as they are, if only you stop...you stop thinking about it. And just, well, love them,” Timothy looked down at his hands again. “So when we got home, after the opening, we sat down with tea and some of Patsy’s carrot cake—“

“Excellent choice,” Trixie interjected. 

“—and she...She promised that I was always going to be her son no matter what. That she saw me as her  _ son _ . I’d already started...when she met my dad, and she accepted it, she said, but never quite understood. But thanks to you guys she finally does. I owe that to Ms Crane and Patsy.”

Patsy, ever so discreetly, moved to wipe a tear from her eye. 

Val reached over to squeeze Tim’s hand again, mouthing, “You’re good,” to him. 

“So, yes,” Tim finished. “I would love to help out in the kitchen, whenever you need me.”

Trixie nodded, then turned to Val and Patsy, wordlessly trying to gauge their thoughts. She turned back to him, “Unless Pats or Val have any other questions, I think we’re good?”

“I do, actually,” Val sat up a little straighter. Tim worried in his chair. She winked, “How are you at applying burn gel? For when this one—“ she nudged Patsy’s arm, “—gets back in the kitchen?”

Timothy laughed loudly. 

“I think I’m pretty good at it.” 

Patsy simply sighed at Val sticking her tongue out. 

  
  


-

  
  


“So how long will you let the young chap sweat before you let him know?” Phyllis inquired, rolling some thick dough under the heel of her hand in a way that was, at this point, natural. 

Timothy had departed not too soon after Val’s wisecracks with a word to keep his phone on him and they’d be in touch. 

He had the job anyway and he’d charmed them over too. But Trixie wanted to give him a touch of anticipation. 

She sat now, flicking through one of the many recipe notebooks they had dotted about, on one of the counters. Gum was caught between her teeth and she pooped it loudly. 

Val arched an eyebrow. 

“I’ll give him a ring when we close,” Trixie answered. She dragged her finger down one of the pages. “I think this one.” Trixie handed the book to Phyllis. 

Valerie slurped her tea, helping herself to a chocolate biscuit, “We’re still closing an hour early to set everything up, right?”

“Yes, and don our costumes of course,” Trixie smirked. “My hair requires forty five minutes alone.”

“‘Course it does, chick,” Val said. “Are you going to be touching up your roots too?”

Trixie gaped, hand flying to her hair, “How dare you?”

Val chuckled, “I’m just pullin’ your leg, your hair is fine.”

“ _ Fine _ ? It can’t be just  _ fine _ , tonight is the first time I’ll be seeing Christopher in almost two weeks,” Trixie retorted, panicked. “I have to look better than  _ fine _ .”

“You look good!”

“Just  _ good?! _ ” 

Phyllis, who was perusing the recipe Trixie had handed to her, huffed and shook her head, “Patsy won’t enjoy this—it’s far too fanciful.”

Pausing from checking her reflection in the glass of the oven, Trixie turned to her, “It’s her thirty-fifth, she deserves fanciful.” 

Phyllis handed her back the notebook, “And I know what she’ll say that, ‘it’s like a Stonehenge made up of’—forgive the term—‘penises’.”

Val let out a giggle to Trixie’s dismay.

“We made one of those coronets a few months ago,” Phyllis said. “I hardly think a cake of phalluses is what Patsy would want.”

“But it’s elegant,” Trixie sighed. 

“Yeah to you maybe,” Val chided. She squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “Pats has always preferred the classics, simple things.”

“But she deserves—“

“We’d all cover her in gold and appreciation if we could,” Phyllis said with a wry smile. “We all know that’s not how she likes it.”

Val watched as Trixie relented, setting the recipe book down and crossing her arms. 

“I should have thought Delia would have been here to offer some input,” Trixie grumbled. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

Val bit her lip, throwing on a cheery intonation, “Maybe she had to pop out, pick up a few last minute things. Hardly as if we’ve got the space to hide presents.”

Well, besides the boot of her car. Or the floorboard in her bedroom. But it’s not as if Delia (or even Trixie) knew about  _ that _ particular one. 

“Even so I think if Patsy were  _ my  _ girlfriend and I’d been working twelve hour days all week, that I’d want to spend the day with her.”

Trixie returned to the notebook, turning the pages with a little too much force. A hand came up to rub her collarbone over the polo neck she was wearing. Irritated. 

Phyllis gave Val a seemingly insignificant but all as well loaded look. 

“Plum and pistachio sponge,” Val answered instead. “It’s her favourite.”

“Alright, lass,” Phyllis nodded, setting the bread dough aside to prove and stepping over to the pantry. 

Trixie, without looking up from her notebook, asked, “Could you pop upstairs and get me a peach, Val?”

“A peach?” Val raised her eyebrows. 

“I have to get started on the vol au vents,” Trixie replied, blinking wide eyes. 

“What did your last bloody slave die of?”

Trixie smirked, “You’re not dead yet.”

  
  


-

  
  
  


Val closed the door to the apartment with a quiet click. 

After the interview, Patsy had struggled to bite back a yawn, her annual birthday restlessness clearing making way the past few nights. Trixie had ordered her to rest with  _ no exceptions _ so she would be fighting fit in time for the party tonight. 

The Halloween Party. 

_ Not _ Patsy’s Birthday Party. 

Or the Pumpkin Spice Patsy Bash as Barbara had dubbed it. 

(Which really sounded like they were all going to beat the birthday girl up. An event that Pats would probably actually prefer than a birthday party.)

So, under the guise of a Halloween party, the locals were getting together to celebrate All Hallows’ Eve and Patsy as well. Because she may hate fuss, but, boy, did a lot of people love her. 

And under no circumstances was Patsy allowed to yawn her way up to an early night. Not after everything. Not after this year. 

Valerie padded softly to the kitchen, capturing a peach from the fruit bowl with such silence only cultivated by her aforementioned mute years. 

She tossed it up in the air as she made her way back to the door, catching it as a  _ very distinct _ sound made her jolt. 

Val turned on her heel and peered over at the sofa bed. 

Pats had the blankets pulled up to her chin, eyes squeezed shut, and the sheets moved rhythmically. 

A little solo birthday fun never did anyone any harm, did it?

Val smiled and turned back to the door to give Pats her privacy. 

Only depth perception failed her and she knocked right into it with an ungracious  _ thud _ . 

“Wha..?  _ Val _ ?!” Patsy spat. She’d sat up aggressively, turning to face the source of the noise. 

Val cringed a little bit, “Hi, mate. Sorry. Trixie wanted a peach, I just...You can get back to your wank now.”

“I wasn’t—Why does Trixie want a peach?” Patsy stood, flustered. Her long flannel shirt skirting her mid thigh. Scars. She folded her arms over. 

“Lunchtime,” Val worried her lip between her teeth. “Pats are you...You look a little sad.”

“I’m fine,” was the terse response. 

Valerie eyed her, “Were you sad wanking?”

“I was—“ Patsy huffed, ducked her head. “Fine. Yes. I was. We’re all adults here.”

“Why are you sad wanking?”

“Why does one have to justify one’s sad wank?”

Valerie stepped closer, “Because I’m your best friend, I’m your  _ soulbuddy _ —“

“I hate it when you say that.”

“—and you should be able to come to me if you’re having a sad wank.”

Patsy paused, allowing  _ that _ to pass. Before she could retort, however, the apartment door burst open, shoving Val out of the way. 

“Valerie, I sent you up five minutes ag—…” Trixie halted, closing the door behind her as she surveyed them both. “What’s going on?”

“Pats is sad wanking,” Val sighed. 

_ “Right now _ ?” Trixie glanced at Patsy’s right hand which hovered past her hip. 

“No! Of course—I was interrupted!”

Trixie frowned, “But why were you sad wanking in the first place?”

“That’s what I asked!”

“And I don’t have to explain my wanking state to you!” Patsy replied. 

Trixie moved closer. “Patsy, are you upset?”

“I’m  _ frustrated! _ ”

“Why?”

“Because you’re interrupting my sad wank!”

Val raised an eyebrow, “But why are you sad?”

Patsy set her jaw, “I am going to throw every single book we own right at your thick cranium if you ask me that one more time.”

“Surely you needn’t sad wank on your birthday,” Trixie said. “You have a girlfriend to take care of that. Come to think of it, where is Delia anyway?”

“If you find her, you’ll have to let me know,” Patsy grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Val stepped closer, “Want me to pinch your nipples while you diddle?”

“ _ GET OUT!” _

  
  


-

  
  


Running downstairs, Trixie scampering behind, at the behest of Patsy’s frustrated rage, Val pulled her phone out. 

“I’m gonna check with Lu and Babs what time they’re getting here, you think you could give Deels a call?” She asked. 

Trixie nodded, heading back into the kitchen. 

Val jumped up on the counter and began tapping away. 

**Valerie (14:33):** So, we’re closing at six. Think you can get here to help set up?

**Lucille (14:41):** Set up for what?

Val deflated. 

**Valerie (14:42):** Patsy’s Not Birthday Halloween party. We spoke about it the other day, remember?

**Lucille (14:42):** That’s today?

**Valerie (14:43):** It’s Halloween, Lu. 

**Lucille (14:44):** Honey, I don’t know if I can make it, I thought it was tomorrow. I’m on call all night, I said I’d sit with Adam. 

Valerie bit her lip and set her phone down beside her. She brought her hands up to rub her face, expelling a deep sigh as she did so. 

Right. 

Okay. 

Roll with the punches. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pumpkin spice patsy bash coming very soon!!


	24. part two: chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pumpkin spice patsy bash!!!!

Valerie had always thought that October deserved to be considered as the best month of the year. It had spooky things, which Patsy loved; the perfect temperature for a light jacket without sacrificing one’s most thought out look, which Trixie loved. And well, Val had been known to burn quite easily in the Summer months and often looked to the reprieve of Fall for the liberation on her skin. 

(September was  _ fine _ but the melting of the ice caps meant that the summer lasted deep into the ninth month of the year now.)

Most importantly of course, October brought the one day a year that they were permitted, through strict instructions of the woman herself, to cherish Patsy. 

Under the guise of costumed witchery. 

But. 

Still. 

Nomads was bursting, as it often was on Halloween, with the family themselves and a bustle of local folks. The good Sisters had found themselves on a few seats in the corner, drinking their barley water (made especially for them by Phyllis herself). Sister Julienne and Monica Joan having some levity about them as Winifred cast a long, stern gaze to the ground to avoid any of the perceived sin bopping about the bakery. After all, Val couldn’t excuse the irony of inviting a bunch of nuns to a Halloween party. Especially when Trixie had gone quite overboard with the occult decoration given Patsy’s recent special interest in obscure Eastern European folklore. 

Sister Winifred may have been staring hard but the polystyrene Beelzebub stared harder. 

Some of Trixie’s gym friends, a gaggle of Delia’s new coworkers, and general fans of Patsy’s pastries were laughing between them, revelling in the festivities, as the carefully curated music playlist blared. Everyone was decorated exotically in ridiculous costumes ranging from a sexy houseplant to the entire state of Wyoming. Drinks flowed, with Val keeping an ever keen eye on Trixie, and snacks were handed out routinely. 

As was the case each Halloween, two large boxes sat at the open door with trays of sweet treats perched atop for the revolving trick or treaters. It was Patsy’s insistence, the treat trays, and she always ensured there was more than enough baked and ready to last the whole night so every child had a Nomads Halloween Treat.

The birthday girl herself, donned in a  _ specific _ pirate costume, held some spiked punch tightly in her grip as she made her way over to the Sisters, her bad hand now a hook swinging by her side. The perfectly jaunty hat on top of her head shadowed much of the anxiousness of her face but not all. 

Patsy was always tense at the centre of attention, Valerie was fully aware of this and expected as much, but this year she seemed somewhat twice the level of stress that she usually befell. Her eyebrows, though dramatically shaped, appeared to be constantly bunched together. And the glass in her hand threatened implosion if the white grip of her hand was anything to go by. Val couldn’t blame her, not really, what with the tensions with her and Delia rapidly approaching some sort of boiling point. 

Delia had been gone all day, reappearing about thirty minutes before the party with an ungodly amount of stress about her as she rushed into Val’s room to throw on some sort of spandex green costume. 

(Cthulhu)

(She had the tentacles and everything)

(Was quite frightening to be perfectly honest)

Anyway, Delia’s absence had sent Patsy into a bathtub full of despair to the sweet symphonies of Alanis Morrissette’s  _ You Oughta Know _ which was awfully foreboding. But she’d muscled out her fantastic Captain Hook costume (although she  _ insisted _ it was actually a very real pirate as her inspiration) and swirled on thick eyeliner and kicked herself into some sort of enjoyment. On edge. Uncomfortable. Yet she pressed on. 

Rolled with the punches.

That was their thing anyway.

Valerie watched Patsy settle down with the Sisters, curtly avoiding Winifred, and cast her gaze over to Delia. And the bloody tentacles. 

Val knew Pats. Val knew Pats about as well as a near-death experience can get you to know someone to be honest. On top of being best friends, living in extremely close quarters, and co-owning a business together, of course. But Val figured she’d grown to know Delia quite well too. Which is why she couldn’t figure what was going on between them. 

Role-reversal, it felt like, Val mused as she sipped her rum and coke and watched Delia throw her head back in an empty laugh at something the uppity one of her colleagues said. If you’d have told her at the start of the year that it would be  _ Delia _ vanishing,  _ Delia _ withdrawing,  _ Delia  _ being the one that wasn’t communicating. And  _ Patsy _ left alone with the hurt damn puppy face. It was cognitively dissonant this change and Val was only partly as stressed as good old Pats about it. She couldn’t begin to understand how her best bud may be feeling. 

Given Lucille’s obsessive work focus that Val was resolutely  _ not _ bothered about, maybe she was a touch more empathetic than she would have been prior. 

Delia appeared merry, leaning into a conversation with her co-workers, and drinking a strong brew but Val knew her enough now to realise that her laugh was a little too loud to be genuine, smile a little too bright. Patsy, from her corner of the room, looked away from Sister Julienne at the bark of Delia’s laugh, casting a gaze that could only really be described as mournful over to her. 

“Awfully sad, isn’t it?” Trixie drawled beside Val, taking a sip of her lemonade. (Organic and home-made, thank you very much). “I thought they’d be better this time.”

Trixie herself was wrapped simply in a lot of fake vines, donning green shorts, with wash out ginger hair dye colouring her Poison Ivy. 

Val nudged Trixie’s arm, “Figure they just need to have it out, get whatever it is out in the open. But Pats is Pats and Delia is…”

“Patsy is fine,” Trixie said curtly. “Patsy’s  _ been _ trying. It’s Delia that...She was gone  _ all day _ , Val.”

“London. To get her present,” Val replied. “Wasn’t available until today apparently.”

“Apparently,” Trixie sighed and rested her chin on Val’s shoulder. “What do you think it is that’s going on between them?”

Val shrugged, “Pats mentioned a few weeks ago that since her hand went the only sex they’d been having was sort of mutual...y’know. Told Delia and since then she...Well, yeah. Houdini, ain’t she?”

Trixie paused, “When you say ‘told Delia’, do you mean Patsy did or  _ you  _ did.”

“I did,” Val frowned. “Came downstairs in the middle of the night and found her in the kitchen. She’d gotten herself in a tizz about making the birthday cake. Wanted to do something. I told her all Patsy wants is reassurance that she’s, well, still good enough since they stopped having proper sex and all.”

Trixie pulled back then and pinched the bridge of her nose as she expelled a deep,  _ deep _ sigh. 

“Val.”

“What?”

Trixie looked up at her for a moment before yanking off the werewolf mask she’d adorned. 

“Trix! That’s my—”

“Do you remember in year eight when I was going out with Jack Dickinson?” 

“Great Expectations Jack? Yeah. ‘Course,” Val bobbed her head. “Dickhead.”

“Do you remember how you told him that I wanted to break up with him before  _ I  _ did,” Trixie arched an eyebrow. 

Val blinked, “Yeah?”

“Do you remember how he misinterpreted the reason and proceeded to treat me god awfully for the rest of school?”

Valerie blinked once more, “Yeah.”

Trixie stared her down. 

Wait. 

Hm. 

Oh. 

Oh shit. 

Val wrinkled her nose, “I made it worse, didn’t I?”

Trixie cringed, “ _ Perhaps _ . Val I know you think you subscribe to a philosophy of not getting into other peoples’ business but...well, you really do make a habit of it.”

Before her, Delia let out another joyless laugh, Patsy winced under Sister Monica Joan’s attention, and Trixie simply gave her a sad sort of smile. 

“It’s not your fault. They never talk when they should, even coaxing them only serves to make it worse,” She said. 

Val rubbed the back of her neck. Trixie had many points -- always did frankly. 

“Should I--”

Trixie handed her back the sodding werewolf mask, “I think we should just leave them to it now.”

Valerie frowned, but her reply was cut short by Christopher’s arrival jarring Trixie away. He wore nothing but extremely tight gold underwear and some white Nikes. Everything was on display. 

_ Everything _ . 

Val shivered.

Right.

  
  


-

  
  
  
  


“Happy Birthday, Ms Mount!” Sister Monica Joan crooned as her long fingers wrapped around Patsy’s biceps. (The good sister was the only one she’d let get away with not honouring her title). She leaned up then, Sister Monica Joan, and brought her lips right to Patsy’s ear, “The years have been kinder to you than they have to others.”

She pulled back then and cast a smirk over to Sister Winifred who stewed,  _ painfully _ out of place, in the corner with a cup of water. 

“One assumes someone made sure to always keep your fair skin protected from the sun’s extreme rays.”

“My mother did always say that the sun was truly the greatest enemy of one’s youth appearance,” Patsy smiled. “Factor fifty ought to keep it at bay.”

“Your mother is a wise woman,” Monica Joan nodded, touching her fingertips at Patsy’s chin. “One sees that in the way you hold your shoulders.”

“ _ Was _ would be the correct word,” Patsy replied as she nudged the nun’s fingers away. “But yes, despite her...occasional flaws, she was certainly the wisest person in my life, despite what my father may have thought.”

Patsy kept her eyes on the plastic cup in her hands, the thudding bass of whatever song Trixie had chosen to blare jolting gave rhythm to the tapping of her fingers on the side. She did  _ not _ want to look at the nun.

Monica Joan beamed, “It is often the perceptions of men that they are the superior wisdom givers but we are to know that is incorrect, isn’t it? Tell me, Ms Mount, was your mother’s last gift to you kind?”

Expelling a shaky breath---

  
  
  


_ “Do you hear the bells? Do you know what that means? Happy Birthday, Patience.” _

_ “I’m cold, momma. I want to go home.” _

_ “We’ll be home soon, I promise. I promise you, sweet girl. Now, tell me, when we get there—when we get home—what present do you want?” _

_ “It’s silly.” _

_ “Nothing is silly if you want it, Patsy.” _

_ “I want...I want a friend.” _

_ “Oh, sweetie.” _

  
  


Patsy swallowed hard, “It was kindness itself.”

Sister Monica Joan patted her cheek, “It would do you well to remember that, Ms Mount.”

And with that she cast a long stare over to Delia.

Patsy followed her eye line and heaved a sigh. Quietly, she enquired, “What if the kindness I want to give isn’t wanted?”

There was a moment as Sister Monica Joan considered. In fact, it was long enough it had Patsy wondering if she’d even heard her. 

It was Sister Julienne, then, who replied: 

“How can we be certain? All any of us want is kindness. Perhaps an err has occurred in the process of its giving, but rest assured, Ms Mount, your kindness will be greatly received,” Julienne sent Patsy a wise, knowing smile. Sister Monica Joan offered a supportive nod. Julienne continued, “Talk to your partner. It is, after all, your day of celebration.”

She didn’t believe in God, Patsy. It had never been something her parents cared for, of course, and her experiences only served to further her godlessness. Yet she did respect the Sisters (bar Winifred) for their unwavering faith, unwavering commitment, and unwavering wisdom. 

Sister Julienne was right. Of course she was. Patsy had, through her own spiraling rationale, decided that Delia was going to end things with her without actually talking to the woman herself. It  _ could _ be a misunderstanding. 

And Delia was far too important to give up without some sort of fight. 

Tossing her drink back, Patsy gave the nuns a simple farewell before standing, sure with purpose, and making her way over to the counter. 

Delia, breaking away from an unfunny story from an unfunny colleague, looked up at her with a sharp, questioning stare.

Patsy leaned forward. 

“May I have a word?”

  
  


-

  
  


“I’ll have to say, I do like you blonde but this red hair is... _ interesting _ ,” Christopher smiled, wrapping a strand around his finger. “And the vines, outstanding.”

Trixie tossed her head back in a gentle laugh, her own hand resting on his very  _ bare _ abs. 

“And I do like you fully dressed but those...sparkly gold pants are certainly making some very good points,” She smirked. 

Flexing her fingers, she dug her nails into his stomach only slightly. Watching his smile slip into something else appeased her. 

They hadn’t... _ yet _ . 

They weren’t even official. Or exclusive. Christopher was perfectly within his right to see other people. And so was she. 

So the fact they hadn’t...was fine. 

Because her and Barbara were each other’s stress relief right now. 

Between Babs’ pregnancy hormones and her own stresses from everything at the council and  _ godforesaken Violet Buckle— _

It worked. 

They worked. 

Christopher pressed a long kiss to her cheek, “You do look radiant, Trixie.”

Trixie leaned into him because she truly did like him, despite that niggling sort of unease that persisted within her. 

“As do you, Chris,” She moved to kiss his cheek. “Although it seems you need a refill and I shall get right on that.”

Christopher appeared to have a retort but kept it behind his teeth as she moved around him, just in time to see Patsy trail behind a stewing Delia. 

Frowning, Trixie brought her lip between her teeth and considered...

...before shaking her head and returning to the kitchen. 

They’d figure it all out. They simply had to. She loved Patsy too much for her to be—

_ Platonically _ , she loved her. 

And Delia was one of her most dearest friends. 

They were, when they actually communicated their feelings, perfect for each other. Delia understood Patsy in a way even she struggled with, that deeper sort of level of understanding that you have when you truly love somebody and they love you in return. 

Trixie yearned to be loved like that. Perhaps by Christopher, or some other man. Someone to understand her, to  _ know  _ her, who she was all hidden away inside. 

It would happen eventually, of that she was certain, but the interim loneliness was debilitating. The loneliness of which led her to lay with Barbara as she combatted her own solidarity. 

The baby, their baby, would be along soon enough and Barbara and Trixie could stop the sexual dalliances because they’d never be lonely again. 

_ Their baby _ , Trixie smiled softly as she went about making Christopher’s old fashioned (just the same way Patsy had it). She’d never really truly allowed herself to think about being a mother, although mum and Phyllis guided her away, persisted the fear of her birth mother’s negligence. Poor parenting, to her at least, appeared hereditary. 

But she was excited to help raise her friend’s baby, excited to be there through it all, excited to call the child her own—an honour of which Barbara had easily awarded. Because Barbara really was sweet like that. 

And Christopher was entirely fine with it. So she would continue to see him, help Barbara as she could, and raise a baby with her. 

Yes. 

Perfect. 

Just how things should be. 

Just how she should be. 

-

  
  


“That was extremely rude, Patsy,” Delia spat as she walked ahead of Pats into the back alley behind the bakery. “I was having a perfectly  _ fine  _ conversation and you dragged me back here.”

“I didn’t drag you,” Patsy responded tersely. “I requested your presence. Which I don’t deem ruder than your blatant ignorance of me for the past two weeks.”

Delia tore off the tentacle appearances and crossed her arms over her chest. The moonlight made her eyes shine. The bitter air, Patsy saw goosebumps make their way along her skin. 

Even absolutely livid, Patsy felt Delia to the most beautiful woman she’d ever had the fortune to witness. 

But the abruptness, the defensiveness, was unattractive and Patsy was powerless against the surge of anger she felt. 

“ _ Two weeks _ , Delia,” She snapped. “And even before that you were reclusive when we were alone. Put on a show in front of the others, but when it was just us, you would hardly touch me!”

“That’s hardly true! We’ve had—“

“You haven’t  _ held me  _ since I came out of the bloody hospital!”

Delia set her jaw, rabid, and prepared to belt out whatever scathing retort she’d been brewing until the distinct ringing of  _ The Purge  _ sirens blared from her pocket. 

Patsy knew that tone (she’d set it herself several long months ago). She also knew that Delia wouldn’t ignore it. 

And she didn’t. 

Patsy sighed, “Are you serious? Delia?”

“It’s my mam, you know what she’s like—she won’t stop until I answer,” Delia at least had the audacity to look perturbed. 

“We’re in the middle of an argument.”

“Pats.”

“Fine. Fine. Go ahead.”

Delia gave her a stare before turning away and answering the phone. Mumbles from the other line that Patsy couldn’t make out bleated unrelenting. 

“I know. I’m sorry, mam. I know. I know. Yes. No I don’t hate—It’s just been very busy, with the new job and Patsy’s...I’m sorry.”

Patsy sucked on her teeth in a moderate refrain from simply grinding them. 

“No! Patsy’s fine—her hand has just gone...for good this time,” Delia could be heard muttering. “Yes. Completely—Well we haven’t thought about those bloody blue badge stickers, it’s been a—...No! I’m not…” She looked over, Patsy meeting her eyes with a desperate softness. “Yes, we’re still together and yes, I’m still very much in love with her.” 

Patsy deflated, despite the striking charge of fear that was still coursing through her, and she offered Delia a small smile. 

“Mam, I don’t care,” Delia sighed. “...I know. I know. Please don’t say that.”

Delia grew terse, her spine straightening and eyes narrowing in that way she always did, “I have to go. I’ll ring you—Maybe this is why! I’ll speak to you another time. Bye.”

If Delia had less years of composure afforded to her by a lifetime of dealing with her mother Patsy wagered her phone would have been making a dent in the brick wall beside them. Instead, Delia rested herself against it, eyes closed and expelling a rather long sigh. 

“Delia—“

“I don’t want to fight anymore, Pats,” Delia cut her off, sounding utterly exhausted. “I can’t fight anymore.”

Defeated, perhaps, was the optimum word. 

“I don’t…” Patsy bit her lip. “I don’t even know  _ why _ we’re fighting, Delia. You pulled away and I-...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” 

She wasn’t one for crying. Not ever. Unless Delia, one of the only people who made her vulnerable, was the reason. 

“I told you everything I—“ Patsy blinked the tears free. “I honoured my promise. There’s nothing you don’t know about me, well, nothing major. I can—I can sit here and tell you every anecdote I have, every thought I’ve ever had, if that’s what you want. Just...Tell me what to do. I need you to tell me what to do because I can’t figure it out on my own— _ Delia _ .”

Delia had straightened once more at some point in Patsy’s plea, turning to her with a curious, questioning stare and shaking her head resolutely. 

“Pats, oh, no,” Delia stepped towards her. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Her voice broke, and her eyes found the floor as her resolve crumbled finally. The sobs brought with them gasping breaths and Delia’s hands found her cheeks. “If it’s too much for you, if you can’t—If I’m not enough anymore—“

“Pats,” Delia’s thumbs, soft, stroked the tears from her eyes. “Patsy, sweetheart, no. You haven’t—I’m sorry, I’m  _ so _ sorry, Patsy.”

Delia kissed her forehead before pulling her into a tight hug, the tightest Patsy had even been given she reckoned. Patsy shook against her partner, clutching onto the damned costume as though a lifeline. 

“You haven’t—I’m so sorry,” Delia squeezed her, fingers digging into her back. “It’s me. It’s all...It’s all my fault.”

Patsy pulled back at that. All  _ her _ fault? What? That didn’t make sense. She shook her head, “No, you—”

“You broke your hand for me, Patsy,” Delia grappled for her face once more. “You can’t—Patsy, you can’t use your hand anymore. Because of me. I did this to you.” Her hand wrapped around the stupid hook, prying it off, dropping it to the ground, and running her fingers over the back of Patsy’s hand. She swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”

Patsy blinked. Confused.  _ Utterly _ confused. 

“Deels, I—You,” She turned her head, pressing a kiss to the palm that was still at her face and stepping closer to Delia. Patsy pulled her in, tight, secure, and held her close. “You didn’t do anything. It’s not your fault, oh Delia, it’s not your fault.”

“How can you  _ say _ that?”

“Because I’m right,” Patsy squeezed her once more. “Delia, please, you mustn’t blame yourself.”

Delia pulled away, but Patsy didn’t let her. 

“You think I don’t—I  _ worry _ ,” She murmured, face hiding in Patsy’s neck now. 

“Darling, you needn’t.”

Delia shook her head, “I worry that you despise me. I worry that you’re hurting and not showing it. I worry that you think I don’t love you anymore.”

Patsy bit her lip. 

_ That  _ was accurate. 

“But I do,” Delia sniffed. “I won’t stop. Ever. Not because of your hand, or your attitude, or your ability to close up and run away when you get scared. I  _ can’t _ stop loving you.”

“I don’t think I could bear it if you did,” Patsy kissed the top of her head. “Thinking you...Thinking that you had, I...Felt so incredibly alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Delia squeezed her tighter. “I was—I still am terrified that you blame me.”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” Patsy said emphatically. “I could never. It happened, as things often do in life, and now we live with the consequences. To waste time on blame is something not worth doing.” She pulled back, so as to gaze at Delia just so. “Unless, the consequences are something you can’t bear anymore. I know I can’t... _ do _ certain things as before but I can try. And everything else. Holding your hand, making you dinner, baking you a tray of scones to take down to your mother. I can try to do it all again. No, no, I  _ will  _ be able to do it all again.” Patsy drew her lip between her teeth to bite down on it before continuing. “It just may be in a more roundabout way than we’re used to.”

Delia blinked, soft, her eyes shining brighter than they had in a while. Like they had all the stars in them. Her hand, it moved slightly to cup Patsy’s neck and a small smile broke on her face. 

“Maybe,” She cleared her throat. “Maybe we should try...Try and figure out some of those  _ ways _ now.”

“You want me to go and bake scones?” 

Delia sighed, humoured, and leaned up to kiss Patsy’s ear, whispering, “I want you to fuck me, Patsy.”

Well if that wasn’t all she’d been dreaming out. 

Patsy pulled back, eyes wide, “Are you sure?”

“I love you,” Delia kissed her sweetly. “And, besides, your birthday present is upstairs anyway.”

“Deels, you didn't have to—”

Delia silenced her by yanking her back into the bakery. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


“They work awfully hard…”

Val was broken from her reverie, a long drawn out thought about the goings on in an e-fourteen postcode, by the lilting accent of Shelagh Turner. 

There was something rather gentle about a quiet, wary Scottish voice. 

Val licked her lips and looked down at the other woman who was peering at her over the rim of her glasses. It was a knowing peer, the wise kind, not dissimilar from the ones that Phyllis used to give her when she was younger and knew exactly what deception she was playing out. 

Mother’s intuition maybe? 

Although she  _ had  _ been wallowing for most of the night, the usual celebration of Patsy’s birthday did not quite hit the same level of cheer as usual. She wanted Lucille here. Not even just for the party, but for any of it. 

And it was selfish, she was fully aware, because it’s not as if Lucille was off out with other people or simply being home and refusing to come. She was a nurse. She was nursing her patient. A  _ dying boy _ of a patient. The poor kid hadn’t even hit puberty and was at risk of dying or losing both his legs before that could happen. 

But in the two months since the kid came into her care, Val could count on one hand the amount of time they spent together. 

And, well, if anyone was to understand what exactly she was going through, it was the woman beside her. 

Valerie sighed, “I miss her.”

“Do you know, Valerie,” Shelagh sipped her rosé of which Valerie wasn’t entirely sure where she got it from since Patsy was vehemently against the notion of pink wine and had it banned from the premises. “On the night before our wedding, Patrick was in the ulcer clinic until four in the morning. The ceremony was at twelve.”

“Was he on time?” Valerie frowned. 

“Perfectly,” Shelagh smiled brightly, fondly. “Even had time to polish his and Timothy’s shoes.”

“Did you know that he would make it?”

Shelagh nodded, “Always. You see regardless of stressful, how... _ busy _ they are, they will always make it to the things that matter.”

Valerie wasn't convinced. She swirled her drink a few times before looking back to Shelagh. 

“One month, Tim and I didn’t see him for three weeks out of it,” Shelagh continued. “A minor breakout of measles from the affluent district left him working endlessly.”

“Anti-vax?” Val quirked an eyebrow. 

“His greatest enemy,” Shelagh said quietly. “Needless to say, I had a few choice words for him but it was more out of concern, the poor bugger hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a while and was looking positively gaunt. He wanted to ensure the children were fighting fit but had forgotten about himself.”

“Did you...Do you...ever get jealous?” Val frowned, then shook her head. “That’s not the right word. Envious, maybe? That’s not—I don't know what I’m trying to say.”

“I know what you mean. And I do,” Shelagh said. “But what he does is important and unpredictable and it’s why I fell in love with him in the first instance.”

Val bobbed her head, sipping her own drink, “Thank you, Mrs Turner.”

“Call me Shelagh,” The woman clinked her glass against Val’s. “And if you ever—well, I don’t see how you could possibly be—but if you ever get lonely or need to chat to someone who understands it, you can give me a call.”

When the Nomads moved to Hemel Hempstead, it was never supposed to be for longer than a year. Yet the kindness of those around them got them comfortable, and they stayed. 

Shelagh Turner was one of them. 

Valerie clinked her glass back, “I’ll keep it in mind, Mrs Turner.”

“Of course, Valerie,” Shelagh smiled. “And thank you, once again, for getting Timothy a job here.”

“He got it himself, he’s a good kid. You must be proud of him.”

Shelagh beamed, nodding quickly, “He’s my greatest achievement. Well, all the children are.”

“May settling in well?”

“Of co—Oh.”

Shelagh paused, distracted by something happening behind Val. 

She turned, Valerie, and looked behind her seeing a  _ giggling _ Patsy and Delia as they ran through to the upstairs door practically on top of each other. 

Delia’s hand was fixed firmly on Patsy’s arse. 

The door slammed behind them. 

“Looks like it’s birthday present time,” Shelagh chided with highly raised eyebrows. 

Val snorted before becoming distracted by something else all entirely. 

(If Shelagh slipped away, Val didn’t notice.)

Namely Lucille, with Barbara in tow, making her way through the front door despite everything. 

Barbara immediately ran over to Trixie and Christopher, pulling Trixie into the tightest hug Val had ever seen her receive and giving Chris’ abs a firm pat. 

Valerie set her glass down as Lucille stepped closer. She was still in her uniform, as Barbara was, but she was  _ here _ . At the Pumpkin Spice Patsy Bash. When she said she couldn't make it. 

Lucille reached up and pulled the rubber werewolf mask off of Val’s head. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Valerie rubbed the back of her neck, “I thought you couldn’t make it.”

Lucille gave her a shy smile, “Patrick is staying with him. He...reminded me why we do what we do but not to let it cost us.”

Valerie nodded, “Drink?”

Lucille grinned, “I’d love one.”

  
  


-

  
  


“Jesus  _ bloody _ Christ!”

Patsy’s head bounced off the stairs with a startling amount of buoyancy as she blinked through the white spots taking over her vision. 

A misstep, entirely distracted, and she was laying on the stairs with Delia practically on top of her. 

“Oh, sweetheart, let me see,” Delia climbed further up, moving a hand to the back of Patsy’s head. It came back clean. “You’re not bleeding, at least.”

“I think I’m dying,” Patsy wheezed, blinking even harder until Delia settled into being one entity on top of her. “Oh, Nope. No. I’m good. Yes. Quite.”

Her hands found Delia’s hips. 

“Pats…” Delia sighed, leaning over her with a smirk. 

“What?”

And then Delia pressed herself hard against Patsy. The wood of the stairs dug into her back but she paid no mind entirely transfixed on the woman above her. 

“Kiss me.”

The fluttering of her heart was still as prevalent as it had been since the first time she ever saw Delia. It was never going to go away, Patsy knew that now. 

And so she gladly leaned up and caught Delia’s lips in a sweet kiss. 

“Happy Birthday, Pats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry about the wait on this one. i’ve had a lot going on this month, least of all getting older, getting a person, and working on some personal projects. i hope this worth the wait and the next chap will, and i mean it, be up pretty soon!!  
> missed ya x


	25. part two: chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November arrives with a bang. Literally and figuratively.

November arrived with a bang. 

Both figuratively in Patsy and Delia’s case and literally in the apartment’s case. 

The boom was loud enough to register a little pop through Val’s earplugs but, thankfully, not enough to trigger her PTSD. The scream from the living room, that Val caught as she dropped the plugs on her side cabinet, advised her Patsy wasn't so lucky. 

(Really the ear plugs were only popped in because her and Trixie’s gift to Patsy each year had been an allowance for really loud sex in the living room.)

By the time Val had yanked on sweatpants and burst into the living room Delia already had Patsy calm with some deep breathing and Trixie was aggressively flicking the light switch. 

Val scrubbed her face with her hands, “What was that?”

“The electricity isn’t working,” Trixie huffed, continuing to flick the switch in an increasingly angry way. 

Delia, as she stroked Patsy’s hair, said, “Probably tripped the switch.”

Ah yes. 

In the fuse box. 

Which was downstairs. 

Even further down. 

In the cellar under the register. 

(Val had nearly  _ shit _ when Trixie opened the trapdoor covered by a rug and led her down a set of stairs into a rather chilly basement with their mother’s things and other nik naks stored.

Least of all Patsy’s collection of antique books that arrived from Canada when she decided to settle permanently that sat in what used to be the wine racks.)

“I’ll go,” Val grumbled, slipping her shoes on. 

They were closed, always were the day after Halloween, and November had made her presence known so the bakery was frozen something fierce. The basement even  _ more _ so. 

Valerie tightened her hoodie around her, using the light of her phone to guide her to the fuse box—

“ _ Bloody fuck _ !” Val hissed, bringing her foot up for inspection. 

Bastard toe and whatever she smacked it on. 

She dropped her light to it. 

Patsy’s books open, messily piled on the floor. Clearly she’d been having some late night reading lately. 

On the top of the stack:

_ The English Faust Book _ .  _ 1592\.  _

Sure. 

Val filed  _ that _ away for googling later and padded over to the corner where the fuse box presided. 

Or as close as she could. 

Because the bastard thing was smoking. A lot. 

  
  
  


Following a very blunt text message, soon Valerie was joined downstairs by the other three who gazed upon her findings with a similarly concerned look. 

“That’s…” A still slightly shivering Patsy began. “That’s not good.”

Trixie wrinkled her nose, “I’m going to get some water to throw on it—“

“ _ No! _ ” was the combined cry from the three of them. 

“Trixie, are you  _ insane _ ?” Val grumbled as Delia shot back up the stairs. “You can’t throw water on an  _ electrical _ fire. You filled out the bleedin’ fire safety booklet!”

Trixie huffed, “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed it’s been quite a  _ stressful _ week—“

“Incoming,” Patsy interjected. 

“Forgive me for not—”

The screeching of a foam extinguisher silenced her. 

Delia cocked the nozzle away, “Right. What’s the problem then?”

Patsy had stepped forward, nose in the smouldering, foam-covered fuse box and was appraising it as if she had any sort of knowledge on anything electrical. 

“Do you know, I  _ think _ it’s potentially redundant,” She said with a sigh, reaching forward. 

Val swatted her hand away. 

“It’s bloody knackered.”

“It  _ can’t  _ be,” Trixie crossed her arms. “Patsy has a list.”

“I have a  _ list _ ?” Patsy asked incredulously. 

“Yes.”

“A list of what? Val, did you know about this list?”

Val shrugged in the negative, content to watch for the moment. 

“Of  _ bakes _ . Phyllis left me a lift of bakes to be done by tomorrow morning,” Trixie said frankly. “They’re light—she presumed they’d be easy enough for you to start easing back into everything.”

Patsy softened then, and nodded, nudging closer to Delia, “That sounds...wonderful.”

“Yeah, if we could turn the lights on,” Valerie itched closer to the fuse box and all the molten plastic that encased it. “Think the ovens are out of the question.”

Trixie heaved what was quite possibly her largest sigh to date and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“I’m going to call Phyllis and see if we can borrow her oven,” She said. “Possibly Barbara too if needs must. Valerie, could you,  _ please _ , find an electrician to fix this up immediately?”

Val nodded with a tight-lipped smile. 

Jimmy—the guy who’d rigged them up in the first place—had scampered up to Yorkshire in the throws of romance which meant she’d have to scour the provincial Yellow Pages for another one. 

Or Google. 

Probably just Google actually. 

Trixie moved then, with a disgruntled flourish of her dressing gown, and made her way back upstairs. 

‘Course the flourish moved the fabric enough for Val to spot something she really wished she hadn’t. 

Goddamn daylight breaking through the open trapdoor. 

The slew of lovebites at the base of her sister’s neck. 

_ Jesus _ that took her back to high school. 

Patsy’s shiver broke her out of her thoughts, “We’ll need some candles, maybe a hot water bottle if it continues to be this chilly—“

“Did anyone else see those hickies on Trixie’s chest?” Delia interrupted as she wrapped her arms around Patsy from behind. 

“I’d rather not think about it to be quite honest, Delia.”

Delia smirked at Val’s grimace, “Her and Christopher must have finally got some alone time during the party.”

“He didn’t stay over though,” Val’s eye twitched and her over protection riled up. 

Patsy, with some seeming sudden realisation, burst out: 

“It’s Barbara.”

Huh.

“Trixie wouldn’t...Christopher wouldn’t be…” Patsy stumbled out, trying to articulate her words. “Trixie and Barbara have been having sex.”

Valerie couldn’t contain the laugh, “Good one, Pats.”

“Seriously, sweetheart,” Delia chuckled. “That’s a good joke.”

“I’m serious, I--”

“Trix may have something of a crush on our little nurse,” Valerie smirked as she nudged Patsy’s books out of the way with her foot. “But she won’t act on it. She never does.”

Patsy simply raised her eyebrows at her.

Fair point.

“Okay, besides  _ you _ ,” Valerie acquiesced with a shrug. 

“But--”

Delia kissed Patsy’s temple, silencing her, “We should get started on that list of Phyllis’.”

“Don’t forget we have the--” Val started.

“Yes, but we can’t do that until Trixie’s left, so, hop on to sorting out that electrician.” 

Delia clambered onto Patsy’s back as she said this, clearly absolutely exhausted from being stood up. 

Patsy carried her willingly, caught up in her own thoughts, across the basement.

Val watched them go with an eye roll.

  
  


-

  
  


Val lounged on the sofa, scrolling through Google listings with somewhat of a bored expression about her. Thankfully, the sun had decided to make a rare appearance from behind the clouds so the flat was lit up against the empty dark of lack of electricity. 

Her eyes dropped to her battery percentage. 

Sixty two. 

Could manage a while longer.

Downstairs, she could hear the stereo (battery powered) going and pots and pans clanging as Delia and Patsy presumably defiled the kitchen as they did when unattended and in love. Not that they ever fell out of it, but they seemed to have figured themselves out which was a relief if Val ever knew one. 

‘Course whenever Pats and Deels ever rectified a problem, they were particularly amorous for a week or two of another honeymoon season. 

(Val and Trixie were already pooling together funds for their  _ actual _ honeymoon when that inevitably came around.)

Valerie continued to scroll, yawning past the low-rated services. 

In her bedroom, Trixie, from what it sounded like, was flapping about trying to get ready in the dull light of her bedroom. She was particularly loud with the slamming of the drawers which Val put down to not being able to do her hair. 

(Growing up, Trixie was always particular about when and how her hair would look before a meeting, date, something of significant importance. She said it wasn’t that she was vapid, but that it was a calming action that also boosted her confidence somewhat.)

(Val respected it.)

(Val also respected that this meant that Trixie should be left to slam about lest she turn that aggression on Val herself)

A loud bang from Trixie’s room.

Valerie stilled her finger. Five stars. Most recent one was a day ago. She frowned, appraising the listing. The reviews were glowing. 

Shrugging, Val clicked call on Cyril Robinson’s number. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


Patsy was at peace. 

Her equilibrium was restored.

She was weighing up flour for the first time in months, the sugar sitting beside the scales waiting for its turn in the queue. Room temperature butter getting ready. 

And most of all, Delia was sitting up on the counter next to the kitchen sink, swinging her legs and marking her year eight’s books.

_ Delia _ !

They’d figured it all out and fallen back into their normal comfort. 

Patsy couldn’t help herself as she spun around to startle her girlfriend with a kiss right to her lips.

“Pats,” Delia chuckled, swatting her away with her ballpoint pen. 

Patsy nudged her nose against Delia’s cheek as she let a lips curve into her usual fish hook smirk, “Hi.”

Delia sighed, really quite dramatically, and relented by looping her arms around Patsy’s neck, “You’re happy.”

“Extremely.”

“Wasn’t a question, love,” Delia said, kissing her sweetly. “You love this kitchen, don’t you?”

Patsy bobbed her head shyly, “I feel settled again. Even if…” She glanced down at the arm strapped against her chest. 

“We’ll make it work,” Delia moved her hands. Dragging her thumbs over Patsy’s cheeks, she leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. 

Of course, the moment could never last forever.

Because the growing sound of bickering from Trixie and Valerie was becoming impossible to ignore. 

Patsy pulled back with a sigh, and a rather depressed looking gaze to Delia’s lips, before she turned back around to see them both coming out of the trap door in a rather uncouth tizz.

“ _ You’re _ the one who got that godforsaken games console from  _ Fred _ !”

“And  _ you’re _ the one who plugs five hundred bleedin’ things into one extension cable.  _ Without _ a surge protector!”

Patsy shared a raised eyebrow with Delia before cringing at the slamming of the kitchen door. 

Trixie burst into the kitchen, shaking her head at Valerie’s retort, “Did you  _ really need _ Mario Kart?”

“It _ wasn’t _ my N64, Trix, for the love of god,” Val grumbled. “And yes! Of course I did! Just because you’ve never won a race in your whole life.”

“And now I’ve got to go to this council meeting and force Violet to  _ do something _ about these hate crimes looking like I’ve been dragged through a rosebush backwards!” 

Patsy thought Trixie’s hair looked rather as it always did. 

But kept that consideration behind her teeth as the siblings continued to bicker between them.

“I don’t think Violet Buckle is going to care about how your hair looks,” Valerie heaved a sigh. 

“That’s  _ not the point _ , Valerie,” Trixie spat. “If I want to be taken seriously, I have to  _ look serious _ .”

“And you do,” Val replied. “You’ll wipe the floor with her. She has to listen to you.”

Trixie shook her head, ignoring the sentiment to turn to Patsy instead, “Barbara will be here about half past twelve to take you and the cakes over to her place.”

“Wonderful, plenty of time,” Patsy smiled brightly. “Deels and I can construct them there too, deliver them tomorrow.”

Trixie appeared appeased. 

“Cyril, the electrician, he reckons it’ll take him a day or two depending on how deep the damage is from Trixie’s hairdryer.” 

Patsy quirked an eyebrow. 

“From  _ Val’s  _ dodgy Nintendo,” Trixie retorted, violently pressing the screen of her phone. She slammed it down. “Great. I won’t be able to charge it now for days. Val, give me yours.”

“Wha—“ Valerie flapped. “No! I’m meeting Lu for lunch later, I need to be able to text her when I’m there.”

Trixie blinked. Then rolled her eyes. 

“Pats?”

On a very good day, Patsy remembered to charge her phone. At the moment, it was gathering dust on the coffee table upstairs. 

“No power either, Trix.”

Engrossed in her barking, Delia offered, “I’d give mine if I could.”

Patsy flexed her good hand on Delia’s thigh. Instinctively protective. Delia’s mobile phone was to always be on her so as to alert anyone should she fit when out alone. 

Trixie bit her lip then glanced at the clock, “If you need me, I’ll be at the Town Hall. The number is—“

“Easily found online,” Val eased her towards the door. “Go. Give Violet Buckle hell.”

Trixie paused then, before smirking, “Why, what else would you expect from me?”

  
  
  
  
  
  


-

  
  


“Bit rickety, Val.”

“It’s supposed to rock a bit, Deels.”

“I don’t think it should be doing it quite that much.”

Patsy lowered the corner of the Financial Times and appraised the newly erected crib in the centre of the living room. She’d relegated herself to ‘oversee’ the manufacture of Babs and Trixie’s surprise, deciding it best to keep out of the way as Delia and Val battled out over the construction of it. There  _ had _ been a fair bit of bickering going on but the stocks provided some loose excuse for her to be kept out of it. 

It was only a small gesture. A white crib for the baby. Since the twelve week, they all figured it was reasonable to begin planning for their arrival of the youngest Nomad and so Val had darted out to get the crib as a sign of their excitement for it. 

Patsy herself had never planned for children, nor had she much experience in being around them. 

(She was  _ five _ when her younger sister had been born and her mother had relegated the rearing of her children to the help so all Patsy had ever actually done was very occasionally invite Elizabeth into the make believe games she would live in.)

But it would be fun. And she could give this child back to Trixie or Barbara should it get  _ too much _ . And there was none of that pressure, of course, that comes with being a parent. She wouldn’t have to worry about…

Patsy blinked that fear away. Best not to think about it right now. Instead, she decided to give her thoughts on the matter at hand:

“I think it looks secure.”

Delia arched an eyebrow, hands on her hips, and hammer swinging from her fingers, “Pats, what do you know about DIY?”

In the basement, Patsy had built entire worlds in a soggy cardboard box. Besides that, however, well...

“That you can pay someone from IKEA to come and build your flat packs.”

Delia squinted, “How am I in love with you?”

Patsy sighed and set the newspaper down finally.

“I only have one hand, forgive me for—“

“Since like two months ago,” Val interjected. She dropped down on the sofa beside Patsy, setting her legs in Patsy’s lap. “Was it fun growing up rich?”

“It certainly had benefits,” Patsy said. “A lot of benefits. The emotional neglect was an unfortunate side effect but at least I had food.”

Delia perched on the arm of the sofa, running her fingers through Patsy’s hair, “I love you. And your upper class leaning ways.”

“ _ Upper-middle _ , please, my father never quite cracked that bracket,” Patsy replied, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s nice.”

A thud to her thigh jolted her eyes open again and Val continued to prod her stomach with her toe.

“What?”

“I thought I missed seeing this but…” Val shook her head.

Patsy rolled her eyes, “Don’t you have your own girlfriend to bother.”

She watched then, with her head resting against Delia, as Val looked at her wristwatch with a wide-eyed sort of panic before jumping up from the sofa. 

“ _ Shitting hell _ !” She spat and bolted to her bedroom. 

Patsy relaxed further into Delia’s fingers and closed her eyes once more, “You’re good at that.”

“So you’ve said once or twice,” Delia smirked. 

Val bounded out of her bedroom, tugging a shoe onto her foot, “Pats, are there any leftovers? I told Lu I’d bring some for lunch.”

“There should be some,” Patsy sighed, barely moving. “Take what’s in the fridge; it’ll need throwing away otherwise.”

“Perfect, thank you,” Val leaned down and pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you soon, Mount, Busby.”

“I’m sure going to try,” Patsy replied, snarky. 

Delia swatted her nose, “We’ll see you later, Valerie.”

“Babs is going to be here in about half an hour,” Valerie called, hastily grabbing tupperware from the fridge. “Be efficient!”

And then she was gone. 

As was Delia.

Patsy yelped as her head smacked the arm of the sofa suddenly, blinking her eyes awake just in time to see Delia fling her t-shirt  _ and bra _ off. 

Patsy gaped.

“Wha…?” 

Delia shrugged innocently, “Barbara is going to be here in thirty minutes.”

“Oh. Yes. Efficiency. Yes.”

And her hand grabbed for Delia quite excitedly. 

  
  


-

Barbara was early. Entirely too. 

Luckily, Patsy had yanked her trousers back on and scampered back to the kitchen while Delia lay in that post orgasm bliss a little while longer. 

To make up for lost time, she’d turned up the radio and enlisted Delia to help with measuring out more ingredients for the decorative components. 

This led to a storm of icing sugar that Barbara gleefully walked into. Tired, she’d said, from the morning shift, Barbara eased herself onto the stool, hand resting gently on the little protruding bump of her stomach and watched Patsy and Delia dissolve into a pseudo-majestic dance to the crooning of Autoheart. 

All was well until: 

“Pat- _ PATSY!” _

A cry, fevered, panicked, came as Patsy let Delia spin off once more. The icing sugar had settled, the snow storm passed, but the music carried on against the rising sense of dread.

_ We both know what we’ve got to do, head back to where the magic grew— _

_ M-O-S-C-O-W _

Barbara’s eyes were squeezed shut, tight, contracted. Hands, claw like, gripped her stomach. She was pale, frighteningly so, and seemed almost about to fall from the chair she had been so happily perched but moments earlier. 

“Delia—“

_ You’ve got my heart, I’ve got your hand; so we are safe and sorted _

“—Run up to the library and telephone for an ambulance. Then go to the Town Hall and get Trixie,” firmly, Patsy said this. Strong and sure. 

Delia caught her stare with one returned silent question. 

Patsy nodded. 

_ It’s not hard, with you I have an alibi; you don’t care the reason that I misapply; all I need’s a fraction of your happy heart  _

Grave, Delia scampered out of the bakery as fast as Patsy had ever seen her move. 

_ All I need is you.  _

Patsy didn’t watch her leave, rather, she acted entirely on instinct, entirely on all she’d ever learned. 

Barbara emitted another cry of pain. 

_ And beauty’s in the eye of the beholder; you have lips that permanently smoulder; when in Moscow I just want to hold you up and keep you warm.  _

“Okay, Babs, we need to get you sitting on the floor, alright?” Patsy cooed softly. “I’m going to need you to help me though, put all of your weight on me. That’s a girl.”

Barbara, shivering, nodded and leaned into Patsy, gripping onto her hard. Patsy hooked her still hand under Barbara, and gently eased her onto the ground of the kitchen.

_ I said come here baby, come a little closer; you’ll write words and I can be composer-- _

The blood left on the chair did not go unnoticed. 

\-- _ Let’s get a dog, an Irish Red Setter; it’s all we need to get better. _

With Barbara settled, Patsy kept her left hand on her stomach, for Barbara to clutch onto as hard as she could. 

“I need to,” Patsy spoke quickly yet calmly, forcing a small smile on her lips. “I need to do a little examination, Babs, are you okay with that?”

Barbara nodded hard, eyes squeezed shut, “It  _ hurts _ , Patsy.”

“The ambulance should be on it’s way,” Patsy replied, soft, as she tugged down Barbara’s sweatpants and underwear. Blood. Bright. Thick. “They’ll be able to give you something for the pain soon.”

_ It feels good not to be with a wannabe; I am free whenever you’re in front of me _ \--

“I’m going to examine you now, alright?” Patsy said, hand hovering. 

Barbara swallowed hard, “Patsy…You  _ know _ .”

“Barbara.”

“Just say it.”

The frankness took all the hope from Patsy. She did know. And so did Barbara, evidently. 

_ All I need’s a fraction of your happy heart-- _

“Barbara I think...I think your baby died several days ago...” Patsy croaked out, with a sad attempt at a reassuring smile. “And I think...I think you’re going into labour.”

_ All I need is you _ .

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song in the final scene is moscow by autoheart.  
> would love to hear your thoughts on this!!


	26. part two: chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: stillbirth (nothing graphic, just big ol’ sad)

_ A little boy’s face. Bright, giggling. He smiled up at her with a toothy grin. Or, one supposes, a less than toothy grin as his front incisors had been gifted to the tooth fairy but only three days ago. Bundled up in a little peacoat, school book bag on his shoulder, he reached forward and hugged her legs in that tight, relentless squeeze.  _

_ “I’ll miss you, Mamma,” He mumbled, chin jutting against the top of her kneecaps. _

_ She pried him off so as to be able to kneel down in front of him, a finger dragging across those rosy little cheeks, “You’re going to have such a good day, sweetie. Mummy and I will be here--” _

_ Excitedly, he fidgeted with his coat sleeve to pull it back and brandish his brand new watch. A gift from his Aunt Pat Pat. Simple. Leather strap. Hardly appropriate for a little boy, she had thought, but he cherished it something fierce. Careful. Courteous. Considerate. That was him all over. _

_ “When the--the lil hand,” His index finger pressed into the watchface. “The lil hand is on the number three. And the big hand is...um…” _

_ “On the twelve,” She said, pointing with her own almond tipped nail against the glass. She touched his face once more. “But I think that when we get here, you’re not going to want to come home. I think that you’re going to have  _ so _ much fun, you won’t want to see us.” _

_ He shook his head resolutely, wisps of his dark hair shivering along with it, “I love you and mummy.” _

_ “I know you do, sweet boy,” She brought him close once more, a calm embrace. Her lips found purchase at the top of his head and she rubbed his back. “Have a good day.” _

_ He gave her one final squeeze, “Tell mummy I love her!” He beamed, a shining smile permeating the dull skies of early September.  _

_ And then he was gone, bounding into the classroom into the waiting beginnings of his future.  _

_ She stayed until the door closed and for a long moment after that too.  _

  
  


_ - _

  
  


Patsy regarded the chairs in the hospital with something of an irritation yet regretful understanding. The plastic was hard, uncomfortable, made only worse by the dire situations in which the public found themselves perching on these chairs. There was never a worse environment, Patsy believed, than one that brought your internal agony into a similar external distress. 

Her thumbnail wormed under her middle fingernail, pushing out the half dried blood that had settled there. It left a stain, like red food colouring, on the white of her nail that would only be worked out by Dove and the scrub of a hard wire brush once they returned home. 

A larger wire brush would be needed alongside bleach--- _ two parts water, one part bleach, with a dash of citrus washing up liquid to leave a fresh scent _ \----to get the blood from the bakery floor. 

The ambulance had arrived late. Well, not entirely  _ late _ for there truly was nothing that could be done, but...everything had passed by the time the paramedics appeared and Patsy was left cradling a bundle wrapped in her winter scarf while Barbara dipped in and out of consciousness. 

Her scarf and the...She’d held onto it through the journey, resting it against her sling and keeping it as close to her heart as possible. The scarf had been taken from her on their arrival and Barbara had been carted away in a flurry of navy scrubs and medical jargon she only remembered from med school.

So Patsy sat. 

And picked the blood out from under her nails. 

It was a similar sensation, Patsy felt, to that of Valerie in the military hospital back in the Middle East. Knowing that she could do more, that she knew  _ how _ to help, but being unable to. Her eyes dropped down to the arm strapped to her chest. It had been that which had held her back back then. But now it was time, it was knowledge, it was...well, it was how things were. 

Barbara had been fine the night before. Valerie had even said, as they built the crib that morning, how Babs had been chatting to Christopher, Trixie, the good Sisters about how excited she was for the baby. Her little bump had been protruding. Trixie had watched over her, protective, all evening long, excited herself. 

Little did they both know that it was never going to be.

How tragic, the ides of life calling settlement in such a savage and relentless way. 

“Where is she?”

Trixie burst through the doors, Delia behind her, looking as unkempt as Patsy had ever seen her. They must have ran through the entire hospital. Her coat billowed behind her as she ran towards her. 

Patsy brushed lint from her trousers, stained with remnants of the blood of it all, and stood, flexing her fingers in that nervous tick before balling her hand into a fist.

“Trix…” Patsy croaked out. 

Trixie pulled to a stop, eyes wide, terrified, and dropped down to Patsy’s trousers, shirt, sling. Everything red. She dragged a lip between her teeth and blinked.

“What happened?” She asked, dry. “Delia just said--She said you were dancing and then Bar--then Barbara turned.”

Patsy let out a deep breath, “She...She was bleeding. A lot. And cramping. Her body...She went into labour.”

“At  _ twenty _ weeks?” Trixie shook her head. “That doesn’t just happen.”

“It does if the…” Patsy swallowed thickly. “The foetus died several days ago, Trixie. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Her body couldn’t keep...It passed before the ambulance arrived.”

“The  _ foetus _ ?” Trixie spat. “Don’t--Don’t call him that. That was my baby, Patsy! My  _ baby _ !”

“I’m sorry. There wasn’t anything I--”

Trixie stepped away from her, looking down at the ground, utterly confused before devastation made its way onto her face. 

She looked up, “I thought you were supposed to be a doctor.”

Delia wrapped her fingers around Trixie’s arm, “Trixie.”

Trixie shrugged the hold off, “That’s my baby.  _ My baby _ .”

Oh if only she knew. 

Feverish, this trickery of fate was. 

Patsy closed her eyes, considering, and then nipped her lip before saying, “Trixie before you...You should know that it wasn’t…” Briefly, she looked to Delia who looked absolutely frightened. Back to Trixie, “It was a boy, like you thought. Like we all thought. Only...You see the thing is…”

Her stumbling was making this worse but elocution classes didn’t account for delivery of such…

“You were going to have a little girl too,” Patsy whispered.

And how Trixie’s face crumbled.

Patsy continued, “Undiagnosed twins. One reckons they would have shown up on tomorrow’s scan.”

“Oh.”

Delia was quick, thankfully, to catch Trixie as she stumbled back in disbelief, in devastation, in some all encompassing emotion of grief. Not one life lost, no, but two. Two vibrant little ones that would never be able to grace them. 

“They weren’t cold,” Patsy chewed on her bottom lip as she reached for Trixie’s hand. “I promise you. They weren’t cold. I wrapped them up in my old scarf--the first thing I could get a hold of to be honest--and I-I kept hold of them for the whole journey.”

“Oh Pats,” Delia sighed sadly, reaching for her partner.

Trixie simply stared, empty. 

“Well, I couldn’t leave them on a gurney, could I?” Patsy squeezed Trixie’s hand. “Barbara was in too much pain and they...they were as big as my hand each, about the size of bell peppers. I had to make sure they were warm.”

Jaw trembling, Trixie blinked up at Patsy before keeling over and vomiting. 

  
  


-

  
  


_ “Don’t be ridiculous,” Trixie laughed, throwing a sheet of balled up greaseproof paper at Delia’s head. “I’m going to love them regardless of their sex.” _

_ Barbara was licking cream cheese from her finger as she said, “But we all know you’d love to dress up a girl, wouldn’t you?” _

_ “You can dress up boys too, Barbara,” Trixie teased. _

_ Gathered in the kitchen, late after close with Chinese food and leftover baked goods about, the Nomads had fallen into a lengthy discussion about the oncoming baby.  _

_ Phyllis chuckled from her spot beside Valerie at the kitchen sink, “Men’s fashion can be quite exciting --need I remind you of Valerie’s glittery suit that she was so insistent on for her tenth birthday.” _

_ Patsy gaped, “We simply  _ must _ see photographic evidence of this.” _

_ “Oi, I looked good though, didn’t I?” Valerie nudged her aunt with a smirk. _

_ Trixie rolled her eyes, “Yes, you were quite the butch fashionista before puberty; what happened?” _

_ Valerie flicked bubbles at her. _

_ Trixie stuck her tongue out in response.  _

_ “Besides, we all know that Patsy is the one who’ll struggle the most if we have a boy,” Barbara commented, prodding the woman in question with her toe.  _

_ Patsy frowned, “Why exactly?” _

_ Delia, sipping her hot chocolate, remarked, “You’ve never really spent a lot of time around boys.” _

_ “I was a  _ military _ doctor!” _

_ “Yeah, and you had your own quarters away from the boys,” Valerie interjected. “You literally told me a month ago that you don’t see the point in men.” _

_ “They weren’t my  _ exact _ words,” Patsy grumbled, crossing her arms. “Besides, I had a father, I had men around.” _

_ “Your father saw you once every six months,” Trixie deadpanned. _

_ Patsy huffed, “I will endeavour to love your baby even if it is a boy. I’ll consider it my penance for the misandrist thoughts I have whenever I think of Tom Hereward.” _

_ The conversation stilled then. Even Phyllis stumbled with the mixing bowl in the sink.  _

_ Barbara, who was preoccupied scooping more frosting onto her fingers, looked up at the sudden silence.  _

_ “He doesn’t need to know,” She said, before licking her fingers.  _

_ Patsy cocked her head to the side at the action, only to be started by a muffin tossed at her head from Delia.  _

_ “Now, Barbara, don’t you think,” Trixie started. “He  _ is _ the father.” _

_ “All he did was go in bare back,” Delia pointed out.  _

_ “Exactly,” Barbara said. “My baby has two mothers and a group of really, truly lovely aunts, he’ll be fine without a father.” _

_ Trixie forced a small smile. Delia slurped her drink. Patsy wrinkled her nose. And Val and Phyllis shared a glance before Val offered: _

_ “If you have a boy you have to call him Patrick.” _

_ “After the doctor?” Delia raised an eyebrow.  _

_ “No,” Val winked. “So we’ve got Patsy, Catsy, and Patty.” _

_ Patsy threw the aforementioned muffin right at her face.  _

  
  
  


-

  
  


Cradling the cardboard vomit dish, Trixie leaned back in the chair. Pale as a sheet, shivering, she barely registered the warmth of Delia’s palm against her forearm. Her focus was entirely on Patsy and the doctor stood in front of her. 

“He’s been talking for a while,” Trixie mumbled, eyebrows furrowed. 

Delia replied sympathetically, “Pats is probably just being thorough with her questions. You know how she is.”

A moment. 

Trixie’s eyes focused on the blood stain at Patsy’s knee. 

“I want to see them,” She said suddenly. 

Beside her, Delia exhaled slowly, “Trixie, I don’t know if that’s a good...idea…”

Patsy began walking back over to them, unfocused, as the doctor turned back into the ward. 

The doors swung shut behind him. 

Dropping into the chair the other side of Trixie, Patsy squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before clearing her throat. 

“She’ll be okay,” She said softly. “There’s no...lasting damage. Physically, at least. She knows that they’ve passed, they’ve sedated her to get some rest. Should be waking up soon.”

A relief, a disjointed sort of relief, washed over Trixie. 

_ Barbara was okay _ . 

“ _ Small victories should be cherished, lass _ ,” came the haunting wisdom of Phyllis as she watched Patsy continue to pick blood from her nails. 

A fleck dropped to the ground. 

Trixie felt unease in her stomach once more. 

“Where are they?” She asked. 

Patsy cocked her head, “The-...The twins are in the morgue. I told them you’d rather...sort out their resting place of your own accord. The undertaker will come and collect them in a few hours, they’ll be there for you and Barbara to—”

“Can I see them?”

Patsy stilted, looking past her to catch Delia’s eye, “If that’s what you want.”

“Pats—“ Delia started. 

“I want to.”

“She wants to,” Patsy acquiesced with a defeated shrug. She moved the bowl from Trixie’s lap. “Shall we go now?”

Trixie nodded. 

“Pats…” Delia began once more. “They won’t look like…”

“I  _ know _ a stillborn baby isn’t—“ Trixie snapped, choking on her words as she stood. “I just want to see them.” 

Delia softened, “Okay. I’ll wait here in case...or if Valerie turns up.”

“Have you called her?” Trixie asked. 

Delia sighed, “I tried but her phone must be out of 

power. She’s having lunch with Lucille so maybe we’ll run into her once she’s back here.” 

Trixie nodded, still rather dazed, and waited as Patsy gave Delia a kiss on the cheek, her hand a squeeze. 

Then they began the descent. 

  
  


-

  
  
  


_ “What about Joshua?” Barbara wrinkled her nose as she said it. Hair splayed on the pillow and cheeks flushed red, she watched as Trixie moved up her body, chin wet, and settled beside her.  _

_ Trixie raised her eyebrows, “You shouldn’t suggest it if it doesn’t feel right to even say, sweetie.” _

_ “Toby?” _

_ “A little less of a grimace there.” _

_ Trixie rolled over, grappling at her bedside drawer. She plucked free a cleansing wipe that she dragged over her mouth and hands, discarding it soon after.  _

_ Beside her, Barbara huffed, running her fingers over her stomach, the small bump, “It’s hard to find a name that goes well with Gilbert.” _

_ “It’s a lovely name,” Trixie smiled, moving Barbara’s hair from her face. “Perhaps we need to wait to meet him.” _

_ “You really think we’re having a boy?” Barbara grinned, toothily, bright. She moved then, dancing her fingers up Trixie’s nude hip.  _

_ “Of course. Patsy thinks so and Patsy has never been wrong about anything in the whole time I’ve known her.” _

_ “I wish he had your name. Franklin, there are so many names that sound good with that.” _

_ “I’m sure my brother would disagree,” Trixie dropped her eyes, hooded, down to Barbara’s lips. “Maybe in some world he’s a Franklin.” _

_ “Why not this one?” _

_ “Because that’s not...possible.” _

_ Barbara’s hand still at the side of Trixie’s breast, “Trixie…” _

_ Trixie said as she lay back, out of Barbara’s reach. The bite mark, fresh, deep, at her collarbone burned.  _

_ “You haven’t...You haven’t had sex with Christopher yet,” Barbara said frankly.  _

_ “It’s hardly possible when you mark me at every chance you get,” Trixie snapped back.  _

_ Barbara was silent for a moment.  _

_ “You ask me to.” _

_ “Well, sometimes what I say in the moment isn’t actually what I mean,” Trixie replied, cold.  _

_ The shadows on the ceiling warped under the rising sun. Trixie took to watching them. How they would bend but never break. She supposed she was something of a shadow herself. Never truly opaque, solid, real.  _

_ How easy it would be, really, to say all she felt.  _

_ But she couldn’t. Not after everything, not after Cynthia. Not after what her mother—She couldn’t be that way.  _

_ “I…” _

Haven’t had sex with him because I know he won’t satisfy me like you do. 

Haven't become official with him because I don’t want to lose you yet. 

Don't want to lose you. 

Want you. 

_ But it’s not possible.  _

_ Sighing, Trixie turned back on her side, falling into Barbara’s soft stare.  _

_ “I do like it,” She said, touching Barbara’s cheek. “I didn’t know it was something I enjoyed until Patsy bit my shoulder to keep quiet because...Well, regardless, I like it.” _

_ Barbara seemed sated by that. She shifted, closer and warmer, into Trixie.  _

_ “It’s going to stop when he’s born,” She said quietly. Her hand on the valley between Trixie’s breasts could detect a lie. “Isn’t it?” _

_ Heart thudding, lies on her sleeve, Trixie simply replied, “Maybe we should come up with some girl’s names. Just in case.” _

_ A beat.  _

_ Heart thud.  _

_ Barbara moved her hand away, flat against Trixie’s stomach.  _

_ “I’ve had my daughter’s name picked out since I was eight.” _

_ “Oh? Your mum’s name?” Trixie’s hands around Barbara’s back. _

_ Barbara shook her head, “My mum would hate that. She didn’t like a lot of fuss.” _

_ Trixie squeezed her, “Then what is it?” _

  
  


-

“Diana.”

Patsy had found the white filling between the wall tiles to be absolutely of the utmost interest since they entered the mortuary. They’d been guided to a room with a small table in the centre. White sheet a stop. 

She already knew what they looked like. Rather, she didn’t think she would ever truly forget it. So she kept her eyes focused on the tile, her ears attuned to Trixie’s staggered breathing as she raised the sheet. A gasp. And then a long moment of pause. 

Her voice startled Patsy somewhat. 

“Barbara was eight when she opened the Women’s Hospital,” Trixie carried on, frowning. “She met with her father. Barbara made her tea.”

“The Princess of Wales?” Patsy asked incredulously. 

Trixie smiled, “The very same. I didn’t believe it when she told me. But I suppose it makes sense, Babs is the most compassionate sort. That was the name she picked out for her daughter, should she have one.”

“A fine name.”

Patsy watched Trixie gently drag her finger down, obscured by the sheet. 

“They would have been perfect.”

“Did you ever decide on a boy’s name?”

“Barbara wanted to meet him first.”

“Ah. Understandable.”

She was never the best, Patsy, at knowing what to do in these sort of situations. It’s why her and Trixie gelled quite instantly. They kept everything in, never any lashings of overt emotion, and it suited then just fine. 

But this was extenuating circumstances. And Patsy just simply didn’t know what to do. 

“Can you hold my hand?”

Patsy did so in an instant. 

They stood, for an untold amount of ticks on the clock on the wall, hand in hand as Trixie stared down at her children and Patsy, the tile filler once more. 

“I need a cigarette,” Trixie declared. 

And that was that. 

  
  


-

_ “How do you bare it?” Trixie asked over her caprese salad.  _

_ Christopher lowered his steak knife, “Bare what?” _

_ “Alexandra. Aren’t you ever afraid of, well, messing her up?” _

_ “Oh I’m absolutely terrified,” Christopher chuckles as he sipped his lemonade. “Always. Everyday I’m afraid I’ll do something that will affect her for the rest of her life.” _

_ “Does it ever go away?” _

_ Christopher paused, “No. But I think it’s good that it doesn’t. It means we’re constantly aware of how our actions are impacting our children. It means we can never be too careful.” _

_ “Do you think I’ll be a good mother?” Trixie dared.  _

_ “I think that by simply asking that it shows you love that child so much already.” _

_ Trixie bowed her head, “Thank you, Chris.” _

_ “Now,” He grinned, slicing his steak once more. “Tell me how you think Patsy is going to cope with a baby around.” _

_ Trixie chuckled, shaking her head, “It’ll be an adjustment I’m sure.” _

_ “I’m sure you’ll all manage. You always seem to.” _

-

  
  


“So you have no electricity?” Lucille frowned, concerned, as she helped herself to another one of the many left hors d'oeuvres that Valerie had brought with her. 

Although the bustling canteen was hardly the most romantic setting, Valerie was content to just admire the woman in front of her in possibly the first date they’d actually been able to have in almost a month. 

She looked tired. 

Extremely tired. 

As the party ended last night, Lucille had kissed her up the stairs, into her bedroom, and put her to bed with the promise of this exact date. Then she’d returned to the hospital. And had been here ever since. 

Val felt at a loss to say anything. It wasn't her place really. But she worried, endless, of her sweet girlfriend overworking. 

But then she figured that Lucille worried, endless, of the little boy in her care. 

A regular catch-twenty two. 

So Valerie didn’t comment. 

Instead, she filled Lu in on the frantic goings on of the morning. Of waking up to Trixie’s numerous hairdryers triggering the honest to god explosion of the fuse box. Of Patsy back in the kitchen by sunlight and candle light. Of having to use her’s and Barbara’s oven for the foreseeable. 

Lucille had chuckled at the thought of Patsy running haphazardly around her little kitchen trying to cook up four wedding cakes with the counter space of their small home. 

“So long as she doesn’t get icing sugar on Patrick and I’s notes,” She’d teased, jovially. 

Now, after devouring the little picnic, Lucille was more concerned with how they intended to function over the next week as the electrician worked away. 

“None at all,” Val smirked. “Trixie’s hair dryer really did a number on us. Cyril reckons he can get it fixed pretty quick if he can get the components easily. But it’s an old building, old electric, so he’s not too sure.”

“I’ll keep you and him in my prayers,” Lucille sighed. “You’re more than welcome to stay at the house, if it gets cold without heat.”

Val smiled, “Why, Ms Anderson, are you trying to get me to have a sleepover?”

Lucille shoved her arm lightly, but then paused, lacing her fingers with Val’s, “Would you...object?”

_ Oh.  _

_ Oh.  _




“If I ever do, darlin’, check me for concussion because I must have had a nasty hit on the head,” Val squeezed her hand back. 

Lucille laughed easily, “I’ll be sure to.”

“You think we could—”

But her question was interrupted rather rudely by the panting, desperate nursing student who burst into the canteen and yelled for Lucille. 

Val had met Frances a number of times at this point. Lucille and Barbara favoured her, each happily counting down the days until she finished university so they could get her in their cohort. Val just thought she was fun to have around. 

(And the obvious crush was flattering to say the least.)

(Frances always kept her a chocolate spare should she turn up to the ward to see Lu.)

But this time Frances’ presence was a bit bothersome, and turned to downright unwanted when she made her way to the table and panickingly expelled:

“Nurse Anderson, Nurse Gilbert’s in the ward. She—Oh god,” Frances looked ill, green with worry, and swallowed. “You need to—“

Fucking bloody Christ. 

Lucille was up and out of the doors in an instant. 

“Is Trixie here?” Valerie asked, jumping up too. 

Frances nodded, “Pats—Patsy and Delia are in the waiting room, Trixie wanted to smoke alone.”

  
  


-

Trixie never sat on the floor. It wasn’t what she did. The risk to her carefully maintained wardrobe too high from the grime and dirt of the pavement. But her legs couldn’t hope her up anymore now, and so, in her best trousers, she sat in the remnants of cigarette butts and discarded ash without so much as a grimace for her trousers. 

Her baby—no,  _ babies— _ were gone. Innocent. Beautiful. Perfect. And they’d never get to breathe. Never get to see how lovely their mum’s face looked in the early morning. Never get to try Patsy’s birthday cakes she’d make special. Never get to ride on Phyllis’ shoulders. Never get to have water balloon fights with Val. Never learn to ride a bike with Delia.

She’d never get to hold them. 

And tell them that they’re loved. 

All she could think off, pulling another cigarette out of the packet with her teeth and lighting it, was the dream she’d had of a little boy’s first day of school. 

Her little boy. 

Barbara would be so upset that she couldn’t make it, one of her mother’s suddenly going into labour, but Trixie would manage. Would get him all dressed up and wait until he was in that classroom. 

She hadn’t considered the possibility of twins. 

If it had been her pregnant, and not Barbara, perhaps she’d have given it some thought. She was a twin. As was her mother. And her grandmother. One girl, one boy. It was built into her genetics. 

How ironic, if not so tragic, that Barbara would befall Trixie’s destiny. 

Perhaps it was penance for…

Well, there was no use in thinking that. She’d never been a religious sort. 

Yet, what if…

It was a selfish thought, entirely too caught up in herself. She should be thinking of Barbara. Poor, aching Barbara. Alone, asleep but for how long, in that hospital room. 

At least Patsy and Delia would be there. Hopefully they could track down Lucille too. 

Trixie couldn’t see her. Not yet. She was volatile, devastated. A state that would see her to succumb to that which would not, ultimately, heal either of them. Her feelings would be surface level, her yearning for….

It was too much. 

Too much. 

God, she wanted a drink. 

It was then the footsteps of a familiar rhythm jarred her from her sorrow. 

Valerie sat on the ground beside her. 

“Do you remember when we were kids?” Val said suddenly, breaking Trixie from the reverie inside. “In the home?”

Trixie turned to her, waiting. 

Val licked her lips as she considered her next words, the long pause as she ordered them particularly. Val had always done that, hardly ever one to really fly off the handle, but the one who would look around, consider, evaluate, and then begin. 

“When I would have a bad day, you would sneak us into the kitchen, to the sink and the bottle of fairy liquid,” Val said. “And you’d use it to fill the little bottle, adding water, and then you’d blow bubbles until I started smiling again.”

She did. Bubbles had always made her smile, the way the light refracted through them and gave way to little rainbows dancing around the room. Her earliest memory was of her mother blowing bubbles in the garden much to the joy of her and her brother. So when she met Val, who, as that little mute, always wore a frown or had an emptiness about her, Trixie brought the magic of bubbles back. Rainbows dancing around the kitchen of the children’s home. Val jumping to catch them. 

Trixie didn’t reply, simply pondered what it was like back then, back when she was young, vulnerable and absolutely full of hope at the prospect of the future. Little rainbows, temporary, but happiness regardless. 

Val pressed something into her hands then, before some leaning back against the wall of the smoking shelter and looking up at the clouds. 

Trixie looked down. A little bottle of bubbles. She curled her fingers around it, bringing her hand into her chest, and then she buckled once more and fell into her sister’s waiting embrace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? 🥺👉🏼👈🏼


	27. part two: chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nomads is back open. patsy is inconvenienced. trixie has an announcement. babs has a hot chocolate.

_ Nomads _ was back open.

Such was the case but two weeks later after the little bakery at the bottom of the hill had closed for compassionate reasons. It hadn’t been wanted but it had been necessary. It allowed time for the electricity to be repaired, least of all the occupants inside, and everyone could breathe just a touch more easily after a period of sabbatical rest. 

The funeral, a quiet cremation delivered by Sister Julienne, had been a goddamn awful affair. One could almost bear the thought of an adult one, celebrating a life lived, but what was there to say other than rage at breaths never taken. Afterwards, somber, silent, they’d retreated to  _ Nomads _ for hot chocolates and cupcakes. Patsy kept the liquor cupboard key in her pocket and Trixie wallowed in sugar as she coaxed the same of Barbara. 

It didn’t take much work. Soon Trixie was ushering Val and Lucille over to Sainsbury’s for more marshmallows and Delia had been ordered to Chummy’s for greasy chips and whatever Chinese food anyone craved. 

The day after, Barbara started knitting and Trixie went for a run. 

Phyllis held Trixie as she sobbed on the shop’s step with a green smoothie dropped at her feet and Lucille and Valerie held Barbara as she cried herself to sleep.

The ashes sat on the mantle of the fireplace in Trixie’s bedroom, where Barbara had now taken permanent residence, for the next time Babs took a trip home. The river, she’d decided, was where they’d lay to rest. 

Trixie ran twice a day and Barbara finished a yellow cardigan. 

They (Val) moved some furniture around, brought Patsy’s obnoxious armchair down and set it by the window with a little table and another armchair. Flowers gifted from the community were decorating most surfaces. Delia had whipped out the chalk pens to repurpose the large windows as Patsy dabbled with some new patisseries to display in them. Phyllis restocked the pantry and Trixie flicked the sign on. 

And just like that,  _ Nomads  _ was back open. 

  
  


-

  
  


Valerie leaned on the back counter, observing two pigeons going at it on the street outside with a flagrant disregard for the calmness of the early afternoon. The ridiculous dance was, in fact, so hypnotising that she was completely blind to the door opening and Tim bouncing in. 

He paused, “Val?”

Screeching something fierce, Val maybe jumped a few feet at the not- _ quite _ so sudden intrusion. 

“ _ Jesus bloody Christ _ , Timmy,” Valerie gasped, hand clutching her chest. 

“It’s not my fault you were…” His eyes followed where hers had been. “...watching pigeons mate?”

Val rolled her eyes, “Get in the kitchen. Phyllis and Pats are nearly ready for--”

“Is Barbara upstairs?” Tim cut her off. He removed a rather expensive and dramatic looking bouquet of flowers from his delivery bag. “Mrs Noakes wanted me to give these to her.”

They really were running out of vases. 

Val took the flowers, “I’ll...see that she gets them, chuck; now, you know what Phyllis is like, no time for slacking.”

Tim nodded but hardly made the effort to move, “Will she be okay? Barbara? And Trixie?”

“Women can be more resilient than people give them credit for,” Valerie replied. The pad of her thumb traced along a petal of one of the chrysanthemums. “And if they’re not, they’ve got us, haven’t they?”

“Dad says we can’t stop bad things happening,” Tim chewed on his lip. “And that’s the hardest lesson that we learn, that some things are impossible to fix, impossible to heal. We have to accept that they happen and just...respect the tide of the universe.”

Pained, he looked. Absolutely distressed. 

Val set the flowers down on the counter and reached forward to rub his arm, “We do.”

“How can...How does everyone live knowing that?” 

Val gave his shoulder a squeeze, “Because the alternative is not to live at all and by not living, you miss out on all the  _ good _ the world has to offer.”

Tim gave a small, brief smile, before shaking his head, “You were in a war.”

“Because I couldn’t quite see the good anymore,” Valerie swallowed thickly. “Like when Trixie…” She sighed. “When Trixie couldn’t stop drinking, or Patsy didn’t get out of bed for two months. We couldn’t see the good, it was hidden behind...It was like...like a stag in the forest, darting between the trees, impossible to focus on for more than a second. Then, with a little bit of help, we got out of the woods, into the fields, and we could see it clearly.”

Tim blinked, “Did you just quote Taylor Swift to be philosophical?”

Val closed her eyes and exhaled for a long minute, “Perhaps.”

“At least you’re honest,” Tim laughed, and hugged her tight. “We’ll help them out of the woods if they need it, won’t we?”

“‘Course,” Val grinned. “It’s what the Nomads do.”

“As touching as the entire conversation has been, Timothy,” came Phyllis’ particular drawl from behind the open window. “You need to depart for your next delivery in thirty seven seconds and I don’t think we’re at that point yet, are we?”

Tim gave Val a small smirk, “I’m sorry, Ms Crane.”

“Pop to it, lad, we haven’t all day.”

Tim disappeared into the kitchen as Phyllis rested her folded arms on the window ledge, observing as Valerie picked up the flowers once again.

She sighed softly, “Is Trixie still upstairs?”

Val plucked another vase out from under the counter and added some water to it, “Yeah. She took Babs some lunch up.”

“They’re a lovely bouquet,” Phyllis nodded to the flowers Val deposited into the vase. 

Valerie nodded, admired the flowers some more, “They are.”

A long pause permeated for a moment, the mumblings of Patsy and Tim doing little to disway the stagnancy in the room.

“She’ll be alright, lass, you know that, don’t you?”

Valerie blinked, shook her head, and moved the vase to the window table, “It just makes you think.”

“Have you given your birth mother a ring?”

Valerie didn’t supply an answer to that, instead, she spun on her heel and plastered on a grin, “I think I best be giving that coffee machine a quick service, haven’t thought to do it in a while.”

Phyllis simply pursed her lips but allowed the defeat.

  
  


-

  
  


A little later, Barbara, clad in Patsy’s old UoT hoodie and some of Val’s sweatpants, perched herself in the ridiculous armchair at the window, an aggressively large hot chocolate in her hands; an extravagant amount of marshmallows on top to be honest. In front of her, an iPad, as she worked on some paperwork, read articles and such. 

(Doctor Turner had refused to accept her back to work for another two weeks but she’d been adamant she could at least do  _ some _ things after she’d insisted to Trixie it would be best for her.)

Trixie watched her from the kitchen window, ever cautious, ever afraid. She hadn’t quite got over how small and frail Barbara looked in that hospital bed, how distraught. They’d planned so much, felt so much. And now it was all…

Trixie didn’t tell Val and Patsy that she’d seen the crib stored in the pantry. The one they’d built for her son and tried to get rid of before her and Barbara came home. 

Barbara moved, reaching to scratch her shoulder, and Trixie was powerless to the urge to go over and scratch it for her. 

But she couldn’t move. 

For every part of her that wanted to wrap her arms around Barbara, kiss her head, share her troubles, there existed another part of her that simply couldn’t dare to be so brazen. 

Her heart thrummed.

She  _ must _ ignore it. 

If she could do it in the hospital room, she could do it now.

_ “Oh, sweetie.” _

_ “I’m so sorry, Trixie.” _

_ “You’re not to say the word fault, do you hear me, Barbara? I won’t allow it.” _

_ “This next part is going to be really hard, isn’t it?” _

_ “Yes. But you have me, and I have you, and it’ll all be okay. I promise.” _

_ “Trixie, I think I’m falling--” _

_ “Don’t say it. Please. I don’t think I could bear it if you say it.” _

Trixie’s reverie was interrupted with a shiver as the bell above the door tingled with the announcement of a new customer.

Or so it seemed.

However, the gentleman who stepped in did  _ not  _ look from around these parts at all. In fact, Trixie mused, he appeared as though he’d just popped down from The Shard. He strode in with a purpose, briefcase swinging by his side, and smiled a fake sort of smile at Valerie who was tackling the coffee machine with a toothbrush.

From behind her, Patsy happened upon this gentleman’s gaze and let out an undignified yelp before dropping to her knees in a futile attempt to hide. 

Trixie frowned.

The gentleman beamed, setting his briefcase on the counter with little regard for Valerie’s paperwork.

“Ah! Ms Mount!” The gentleman declared. “Do you have any idea how difficult you are to track down?”

Patsy huffed and stood, making her way out into the main bakery as she sighed, “ _ Doctor  _ Mount. And yes, Derek, there’s numerous reasons for that.”

_ Derek _ seemed awfully familiar to Patsy and Trixie watched with a raised eyebrow as he began to unbuckle his briefcase.

“And this is your registered address? I have to say it’s a little...quaint. Certainly not where one would have expected to find you,” Derek replied, eyes taking in the bakery with a subtle grimace.

Patsy crossed her arms tiredly, “This is my home.”

“Well, I’ve got some news that will hopefully get you out of this little... _ shack _ .”

Derek flipped the briefcase open to begin rummaging around with some files.

Trixie narrowed her eyes, “What are you calling a  _ shack _ ?”

Settling his papers back down, Derek turned his stare to Trixie with an empty glare to them. 

Patsy, who seemed incapable of doing anything besides sighing deeply, waved her hand between them. “Trixie, Derek. Derek, Trixie. He’s my father’s accountant.”

Derek smiled incredibly falsely, “And currently responsible for the distribution of assets following his untimely—”

“About timely.”

“—death,” He paused and tilted his head. “He was  _ assassinated _ , Patience.”

“Doctor Mount, as an employee of my family you should know not to call me by my forename unless expressly given permission,” She retorted, tersely, a wide grin at her lips. 

Derek stood taller, “You’re not a  _ royal _ ,  _ Doctor _ Mount, it’s not improper for me to call you by your name.”

“No, but if you intend to ever work again, you’ll do so to respect my wishes,” Patsy set her jaw, challenging.

Trixie, in her years of knowing Patsy, had never  _ quite _ bore witness to her heritage truly making itself known. Of course, she knew she came from money, knew her family name was quite an important one and had some sway in the Very Important goings on. But Trixie never Googled the Mounts, and was now beginning to regret it.

“What kind of assets? Is Pats getting a sports car?” Valerie asked, enthusiastic and tension breaking as per. She leaned forward, resting her chin on the heel of her palm. 

Patsy regarded her with a warning stare, “Valerie.”

Derek finally removed his glare from Patsy and returned to the papers in the case, “The Jaguars were donated to the motor vehicle museum in New Forest. Not that you could have driven them anyway given... _ that _ . Does it really just hang there?”

He gestured to the hand strapped to her chest, limp. 

“How long until it heals?”

Patsy rolled her eyes, “Derek.”

“Anyway, your father had to leave most of his assets to you. And donated anything he thought you may not want.” He flicked through the papers, separating them. 

“Like a sports car? Why wouldn’t Pats want a sports car?” Val asked.

“Val. I will  _ buy _ you one if you keep quiet.”

“Alright.”

Patsy licked her lips and then began to ask, “Did he donate—“

“The Jackson Pollocks have been returned to the Guggenheim for exhibition.”

Trixie gaped, “ _ Jackson Pollocks _ ? As in more than one Jackson Pollock painting?”

Patsy frowned.

“And the statues have been returned to the British Museum, the MOMA, and, of course, the Louvre,” Derek handed over a sheet of paper, supposedly detailing this.

Patsy disregarded it to the counter, “All I cared for was the art.”

“Well, you’ll be receiving everything else. His books, his work, property, savings and investments. Not to mention, the business itself,” Derek grinned. “You’ll be able to get out of here.”

Patsy’s jaw popped, Trixie watched, as she wrinkled her nose in upset.

“Is there a decline option?” She asked quietly. 

Derek ignored that. 

“Now, unfortunately, given the suddenness of his death,” Derek said this slowly, with a heat to it. “He couldn’t follow through with his original plan to transfer his assets over to you so as to avoid a hefty inheritance tax so you’ll be paying quite a bit of that I’m afraid.”

He handed over a thicker pile of pages. 

“Unlike most of your clients, I actually  _ enjoy _ paying my taxes,” Patsy flicked through the papers. “I owe a lot to the National Health Service.”

Derek gasped, absolutely mortified. 

“...You use the National Health?”

“Of course,” Patsy shrugged. 

“But it’s…” Shaking his head, he continued. “Anyway, all of his assets are clearly listed here along with the final amount of his savings. The investments are obviously fluctuating with the stock market. Oh, and here’s the business folder.”

He thrust out a big red file which Patsy decidedly did  _ not  _ take from him. 

“I don’t want the business.”

“It’s yours to do with what you wish. I’d recommend you think about it.”

Derek set it down on the counter. 

Patsy shook her head, “My ancestors created the business to import people as  _ cargo _ , I’m not accepting it.”

_ Oh.  _

Trixie peered over to Val who was watching the exchange from the corner of her eye having preoccupied herself with the coffee machine once more. 

So  _ that _ was the Mount’s history. 

“It’s your birthright,” Derek stated. 

“And I’ve  _ always _ distanced myself from it,” Patsy retorted. “I haven’t lived on one pound of that money since I was eighteen, everything I’ve had has been from my mother’s inheritance.” She took a moment, regarded the file with a scowl. “Surely one of his other CEOs or CFOs can take charge.”

Patsy flexed her fingers, and Trixie understood as a call for her to make her way out of the kitchen and stand by her best friend. So she did. 

Derek didn’t seem to care. 

“That’s for you to sort, Ms— _ Doctor _ —Mount, the details of your father’s will clearly state that the business belongs to you.”

He tapped the red file, a thick leather sort with a gold embossed coat of arms on the front. 

“He never really knew what I wanted, I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Patsy muttered, turning away. 

Derek snapped his briefcase shut, “The crates will be here shortly, I’ve word they’ve arrived in Southampton. Another item your father insisted you have shall be here before the evening,” He nodded his head once. “I bid you adieu, Doctor Mount, and your little... _ group _ .”

“Just go, Derek,” Patsy snapped. 

And so the gentleman left, leaving behind the papers and red leather file as the bell jingled behind him. 

Barbara watched him leave, oblivious to the entire exchange it seemed. 

Patsy could have shifted the tectonic plates with the weight of her sigh.

“Great,” She nudged the counter with her foot, a stretch, Trixie mused, to refrain from kicking it. “Why must I be burdened with history?”

“Pats,” Val started.

Trixie shook her head, squeezing Patsy’s hand, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Patsy pulled away. “Can I take the afternoon—“

“Take as long as you need,” Trixie smiled. 

“Thank...Thank you.”

With that, she stalked upstairs, muttering something about Monét. 

“I knew Patsy’s family were politicians,” Val frowned. “But I didn’t know they were...I didn’t know they had a business.”

“Seems to be one of those family things,” Trixie peered at the closed door with a sad sort smile. “The sort that gets inherited later in life. A business passed down from parent to…”

Barbara was curled in the chair, scribbling some notes and looking positively tiny. A feat for someone with limbs as lanky as Val’s. 

Trixie chewed her lip and then pushed a grin on her lips, “Anyway, I have a wedding cake to decorate.”

She didn’t see Valerie’s concerned stare. 

  
  


-

  
  


“Pats? Pats, this better be good, I’ve had to leave my year tens with Ms Higgins and though she makes a good brew, she hardly makes a good biology lectu—…”

Patsy heard Delia stop suddenly.

But she couldn’t exactly pry her attention away from the piles of papers in front of her. 

She’d commandeered the kitchen table with everything Derek ( _ fucking Derek _ ) had left. And, quite frankly, was overwhelmed. Everything her father had owned, besides the cars and the art, was alphabetised on the list in front of her and everything was fast approaching from the dock at Southampton. 

(Patsy hadn’t even so much as looked at the business ledger.)

After a quick check of her bank account, Patsy confirmed that all assets, investments, and savings had been dropped right into her TSB current account. 

A sickening amount of digits had glared back at her and Patsy had text Delia an S.O.S (though not entirely awful) to come home immediately. 

And so she had. 

And was standing behind Patsy waiting for some sort of information. 

That Patsy had to give. 

“Pats?” Delia itched closer. 

_ Bollocks.  _

“What's...What  _ is _ all this?” 

Patsy licked her lips, staring blankly at ‘ _ original print Rousseau’ _ . She cleared her throat and turned, smiling brightly at Delia. 

“I’m glad you could make it.”

“Is this...a breakdown? Are you having another breakdown?” Delia moved to the chair beside Patsy, reaching for her hand in a tight squeeze. 

Patsy chuckled, “No, they only happen in May.”

“Pats.”

“I called you because...something has  _ happened _ and it involves you and I...I couldn’t wait,” Patsy moved her hand from Delia’s and picked up a pen to fiddle with. 

“You’re leaving.”

It wasn’t a question. 

_ What? _

Patsy snapped her head to Delia, and gaped.

“Oh, you’re actually leaving,” Delia blinked for a moment, then looked down, twitched her hands. “Oh. Okay.”

“What?” Patsy asked incredulously.

Delia exhaled a long breath, “You have to go. Hong Kong. Or London. You have to go, don’t you? Oh god, you have to go.”

Patsy craned her head, “Delia, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then what...What’s going on?” She pushed the papers around. “What are all these things?”

Patsy set the pen down once more, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. These are my things. Now. They’re my family’s legacy in nick nacks and worthless tat. Apparently the crates from the Hong Kong estate will be arriving shortly, containing all of this.”

“Patsy, this here says you’re inheriting a Cartier watch worth two point seven million pounds.”

Patsy rubbed the back of her neck, “Yes. Quite. Perhaps I do need to go to the Bond Street pawnbrokers.”

“And that’s just _ one thing _ ,” Delia said slowly, eyes raking over the list in her hand. “Patsy, there’s…This isn’t nick nacks and worthless tat. Every single item on this list costs more than the house I grew up in.”

“I mean, there’s an iPod classic right here,” Patsy said, pointing to another piece of paper. “They’re only worth, what? Five pounds now?”

  
  


“ _ Patsy _ .”

Delia’s face was not best pleased with her attempt to close over the expense of the collection. 

“I knew you came from money,” Delia continued, saying each word with an agonising care. She picked up another piece of paper. “But this is  _ ridiculous _ .”

“It’s…A lot. I know.”

“You said you were  _ upper-middle _ class.”

“Yes. Well, my grandfather died when I was twenty; I never had all of this when I was growing up.”

Delia furrowed her eyebrows, “You’re getting items on loan from the  _ Vatican _ .”

“That’s purely a conversation starter,” Patsy replied, flippant. “Both my parents were of the antichrist.”

“They were  _ politicians _ . Tories, yes, but even that doesn’t equate to  _ this _ much…”

Patsy took the piece of paper, “It’s old money. Very old money. My ancestry dates back to some Earl. Then one of his sons decided to distance himself from the land owning part of it all, refused the title and, instead, chose to open a...terribly  _ awful _ business that my family has maintained since then. It’s all old money and blood money.”

Delia bit her lip, “When you say terribly awful business…?”

Patsy sighed and picked up the red leather ledger, “Mount Shipping Co. Established sixteen ninety six. For all of your transatlantic cargo movement needs.  _ That _ ’s where my father got his money. That’s where half of this...showboating comes from. At least my mother was just a Fitzgerald.”

Delia squinted, “Like F. Scott?”

“Her great uncle.”

“Patsy, this is…”

“I know,” Patsy rubbed her eyes. “But I don’t want any of this. The business, the books, the...obnoxious jewellery. Even the money. It’s not anything I’ve ever wanted. But I’m the only Mount left, so I have to be burdened with it.”

There was a long moment as Delia surveyed what was in front of her, mulled over her words.

What Patsy didn’t expect, however, was the sharpness to her next statement.

“Children in my school can’t afford to have lunch,” Delia said. “And you’re talking about multi-millions being a  _ burden _ .”

“Delia, I  _ don’t want this _ ,” Patsy pleaded. “I’ve been content living off my inheritance from my mother. I don’t even get  _ wages _ . Trixie pays my earnings into the NSPCC and UNICEF. I don’t need money, I don’t  _ want _ money!”

Delia ran her tongue over her teeth in thought, “Pats.”

“I’m trying to get rid of it,” Patsy said earnestly. “When the crates arrive, I’ll be going to London to get rid of most of it. Any money I make I will put into charity or some organisations that  _ we _ care for. And--And the business, I don’t know how to get rid of it but I will! I can’t--”

“Sweetheart, you can’t dissolve the business, that’s people’s livelihoods,” Delia raked her fingers through her hair. “I just...don’t know what you expect me to say to all of this. I knew you were rich, Pats, everyone knows that. I mean, who talks like you besides the bloody  _ monarchy _ ?”

Patsy paused for a moment, “I  _ did _ go to school with Princess Zara, actually.”

“You’re not helping yourself.”

“ _ Look _ ,” Patsy shoved the papers away. “I know this is...the most of any champagne problem, but you have to believe me when I say I don’t want any of this. I was...I  _ am _ perfectly happy  _ here _ in this tiny apartment with too many people, sharing a sofa bed with  _ you _ and being able to bake cakes for a living. I’m not, I’ve never wanted to be, that spoiled rich girl with too much self-importance and not enough heart. I’m getting rid of it.”

Delia reached over and took Patsy’s hand, “Okay. I understand all of that. But what does this have to do with me?”

“Because you’re the most important person in my life,” Patsy said. “And any decision I make is going to affect our life and our future.”

“Pats…” Delia squeezed her hand. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t... _ have _ these things because of  _ me _ .”

“I don’t. I’ve gone seventeen years without using a pound of Mount money. I don’t need it. The interest on my mother’s inheritance gives me more than enough means.”

Delia asked, “How much even is that?”

Patsy grimaced just a little bit, “Well...That’s actually another thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

“I want to open a bank account.”

Delia cocked her head, “You have a bank account.”

“A joint one,” Patsy smiled softly. “With you.”

“You want to open a bank account with me?”

“Like I said, you’re my future.”

“Oh, Pats,” Delia gave her hand another tight squeeze before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Patsy couldn’t help but lean into her lips. For a moment, she enjoyed the closeness, the calmness of Delia, before remembering exactly the technicalities of what she needed to do.

Pulling back, Patsy grappled for the pen, “So to do that, I need to tell you exactly how much will be in there when we do. Mount money aside.”

Delia rolled her eyes, “I hardly think it’s going to be--”

Patsy slid a scrap of paper with a very specific, very large number on it over to Delia.

Delia looked at it. 

Then promptly dropped. 

  
  


-

  
  


With Delia sitting up on the couch and sipping water to get over the shock of her soon-to-be millionaire status, Patsy found herself back downstairs searching for a break from the bothers in her head. Logically, she knew that the physical assets, the jewellery and clothes, etcetera, well, they’d be simple to get rid of. She had no connection to them, besides a few books perhaps, so sentimentality wouldn’t be an issue. As she’d said to Delia, she hadn’t even seen the majority of these things growing up, they’d come into her father’s possession long after she’d left Hong Kong. Wondering idly, Patsy considered if her mother would have persuaded her father to dissolve some of these possessions once he accumulated them. 

She wouldn’t have. 

She was just as materialistic and shrewd as her father had been. 

The money, savings and investments, they’d be harder. Patsy resolved to simply buying all the kids at Delia’s school lunch for the next five academic years with that. Probably more. She could look into improving the Science labs. And the Art studios. Maybe even  _ Sport _ . 

Some could be kept aside, for Trixie, Valerie and Phyllis. So they could have whatever they needed. If Trixie wanted to open another bakery or if Val wanted to go back to school. She could fund Phyllis’ next adventure. (Although she doubted any of her friends would  _ actually _ accept her money…).

Barbara was still curled by the window, on her second (probably third, maybe forth) hot chocolate reading one of the books Shelagh Turner has thrust in her hands.

_ Breathe Your Way to Serenity.  _

Patsy would burn her entire fortune to the ground if she could bring those babies back.

She heaved a sigh and padded to the wall behind the counter before hitting her head on the wall with a sad thud. 

Valerie looked up from her Switch, “You good, Pats?”

Muffled by the wall, Patsy replied, “My life is a joke.”

“Well, you’re a very sexy clown,” Val set her Nintendo down and kicked her feet off the side to sit up a bit straighter. “Do you want a hug?”

“Absolutely not,” Patsy stood back. “I’m going to go and make a baked alaska.”

“A baked alaska?”

“A baked alaska.”

Of course, before she had the opportunity to begin her ridiculously difficult task, the door jingled with another arriving customer and Patsy couldn’t help but wince on instinct. However, the wince seemed entirely justified when she recognised the soul stepping in.

“I was expecting a rather unseasonable thunder clapping to happen the moment she stepped in.”

“It’s November, you pillock, thunder ain’t unseasonable,” Val hissed back with a place swat to Patsy’s left arm. 

Patsy rolled her eyes, “She’s awful.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Thunder clapped as the door swung shut behind Mrs Violet Buckle, MP for Hemel Hempstead. 

Pats and Val shared a grin. 

She stepped further into the store.

“Don’t you all look...rested,” Violet commented with nothing short of a grimace. She placed a hand on the counter, quizzed a brow towards Patsy. “I see your arm is better, Ms Mount.”

“ _ Doctor _ . And my hand is and shall remain incapacitated. Doesn't stop the quality of the bakes, I  _ assure _ you.”

“I hardly think Doctor is an appropriate title, is it? Given what’s happened,” Violet smiled all too sweetly. 

Patsy cast her eyes up to the heavens in a disgruntlement. 

Luckily, before she could retort, Trixie stepped out from the kitchen, “Mrs Buckle, so lovely to see you.”

Not one particularly concerned with mincing words, Violet diverted all of her attention to Trixie.

“Five hundred pounds, Ms Franklin,” Violet swiped a finger along the counter before rubbing it against her thumb with a barely concealed grimace. “That’s what I’m here for.” 

Val frowned, “Trix, did you forget to pay the council tax or somethin’?” 

Trixie was still. Jaw set. Eyebrow arched. She observed Violet with a sort of derision, a sort of tiredness. 

“Or weren’t you serious? In your declaration?” 

_ Her what? _ Patsy gave Valerie a raised brow.

“Mrs Buckle, we’ve got quite a large delivery, perhaps you—“ 

Patsy was interrupted by Trixie moving. 

From under the register, she withdrew a sheet of paper and passed it to Violet. 

“A PayPal receipt. I paid my deposit two weeks ago,” Trixie said simply. “I’m running, Mrs Buckle. And I will win.”

“I’ve been in charge here for fifteen years, Ms Franklin,” Violet folded the paper crisply, sliding it into her handbag. “I’m not going to be dissuaded by a... _ baker _ .”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a baker,” Trixie said, her lips tugging into a smirk. 

Violet didn’t reply, just gave a curt nod, forced smile, and departed.

Another crack of thunder.

Patsy and Val turned to Trixie.

“What was that all about?” Valerie asked, jumping up on the counter.

Trixie avoided the question with a flourished twist back into the kitchen. 

Patsy poked her head through the window, “Trixie?”

Piping bag in hand, Trixie pursed her lips in thought, as though mulling her words over. 

“I’ve paid my deposit,” Trixie announced, returning to icing the wedding cake she’d been occupied with all afternoon. “Which allows me to run for MP against Violet Buckle in the upcoming election.”

_ Oh.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed this mess


End file.
